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neonponders · 3 years ago

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Okay I’m in this Flayed!Steve thing now. Here’s part 2 for this post ~

It’s the angsty middle (I don’t know if I’m doing a part 3 so this might just be angst with no conclusion LOL) so I’ll put it under the cut.

• • • • • • •

Billy frowned at Max’s gaggle of weirdos from atop his lifeguard throne. She had a pass to the pool - courtesy of his job - so the extremely obvious sneaking around was even weirder than that herd of freshmen usually behaved.

Whatever. It’s summer. It’s closing time, and Billy’s got plans to be nowhere in Hawkins tonight. He’s got a concert ticket burning a hole in his locker, and he can’t help but touch it fondly after he finishes his shower -

The lights go out.

He wants to slouch and tip his head back like Max does when she’s just over it. But since he’s the boss around here, he puts strength in his legs and barks, “HEY! Lights on and get out!”

When nothing changed, he quickly yanked on his jeans, t-shirt, and shouldered his backpack - ticket safely locked within an interior pocket -

Billy’s mouth opens to bellow, but someone else beats him to it.

“MAX!”

The voice is familiar but he can’t place it. Or rather, it’s out of place, so he doesn’t believe it until he sees Steve Harrington for himself.

“Max! Get out of the freaking sauna! I’m not interested in smelling like old men.”

Billy frowned. There was only one sauna, and women didn’t use it. A mild warning bell moves through Billy’s head at why Max could possibly be in the sauna at all, but instead he chooses to intercept the guy yelling for his stepsister.

“Hey, Harrington.”

It was convenient that Billy stood behind him; he got the full view of that Scoops Ahoy uniform as Steve turned around and -

Got a sandbag in the stomach. The pool staff used those to weigh down signs and traffic cones on busy days in the parking lot, but for the life of him, Billy had no idea where it had just come from. They weren’t stored anywhere near the locker rooms or sauna.

Billy gaped as the guy vocally coughed and flew backward. A good bit of spit got knocked out of him on the way into the sauna, and then the door slammed shut.

Freshmen swarmed around Billy, running at the door to bar it shut. Byers’ brother read the thermometer on the wall. “Almost at two hundred!”

“Max.”

Her red ponytail flew around her head as she looked at him and his confusion. “Billy, I don’t have time to explain.”

“You might!” Lucas intercepted. “We don’t know how long this will take!”

A new voice asked, “How long does it take?”

Billy analyzed this new person’s sailor uniform. “Who are you?”

“Robin. Who the hell are you?”

“I work here!” Billy growled. “What the hell are all of you doing after hours?”

“Steve’s possessed by something,” Robin said.

Billy’s voice went deadpan. “It’s July.”

She grimaced, “So?”

“So take your Halloween bullshit out of here - ”

Slow...quiet laughter turned their heads to the sauna door. Yet...the laughter didn’t match the sobbed, “Bullshit. My life is bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit.”

“Two-fifteen,” Byers narrated by the thermometer. As if connected to the temperature, Steve got louder, wailing an atrocious sound that made even Billy wince.

“We’re all getting arrested for this if you don’t let him out - ”

“We can’t let him out!” Wheeler shouted. Jesus, the kid was just as bullheaded as his sister. “The Mind Flayer’s inside of him. Maybe you might be bored enough to let this thing take over our dimension, but we’re not!”

“Mike, he doesn’t know,” Max said as if trying to soothe the situation, but Billy’s eyes were on the sauna window. Steve had stood up. And Max stood too close to the door.

A fist broke the glass and gripped her hair the same time Billy dove for her. Max screamed as they both landed against the sauna door. Everyone was yelling, but through the chaos, a hand entered Billy’s vision and Steve flew away from the door as if pulled by a rope behind him.

Billy dragged Max away, but not without seeing how Steve landed on the floor, broken tiles following him from the wall. A girl stood beside them, but Billy didn’t know her. She had a nosebleed but didn’t seem to care. “Steve. Fight it. Fight.”

No laughter this time, but the sound of Steve crying was...hard to listen to. Billy and Max slowly returned to the others, all of them peering into the sauna at Steve slumped on the floor.

“I can’t. I’ve been trying. I can’t anymore. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He held his bleeding hand, but all of him sounded broken. Billy heard himself ask, “What’s wrong with him?”

“Mind Flayer,” the girl said.

“Yeah, that doesn’t mean anything to me,” Billy remarked.

“It’s a creature from another dimension,” Byers said...a bit too calmly. “It possessed me last year.”

“You seem fine,” Billy retorted, even though Byers was pale, skinny, and for some reason stayed true to that ridiculous bowl cut.

“My mom and brother got it out of me, but it won’t be as easy this time. All of the flayed people have been eating chemicals. Steve’s house is a mess.”

Robin pointed at the window, “Does that look all right to you?”

Billy refocused on Steve...and all the black veins on his arms, his face.

“Two-forty,” Byers said.

The curly-haired kid...Dustin, Billy remembered from some locked cabinet of his brain, said, “The human body can’t survive past one hundred and ten.”

“What if he’s not human anymore?” Lucas said quietly, like a secret.

“Steve’s still in there!” Dustin yelled, even though his tone was soaked with doubt. “Steve, you gotta fight it, man. Come on! I know you don’t have the best track record, but this is a fight you can’t lose!”

“I ALREADY LOST!” he screamed. Max was crying in Billy’s arms. He hadn’t realized they still held onto each other. Steve cried, “I lost. Soon as this thing’s out of me...I’m dead. I’m so thirsty. All he drinks is bleach. I’m not okay. There’s no way I’m okay. I’m sorry. Robin. I’m sorry. I tried. I tried so he didn’t see you. I tried every time...”

Billy didn’t know what the hell was going on, but Steve’s veins were black, all of them bulging beneath his skin as he began to convulse. Will moved, gasping and weirdly riveted to Steve vomiting something that looked too thick to be saliva.

Then he deflated. “That’s not it. That’s not enough. Two-fifty.”

“What’s it look like?” Lucas asked.

“It’s a cloud - a vapor. It’s - ”

“A shadow.”

Like rats scattering, they retreated from the window where Steve stood again. Except the girl remained, gazing steadily back at him as he reached through the window...not to grab her, but to test the distance.

Steve smiled. Billy felt cold. “Limited human parts.”

Her jaw stiffened as her hands formed into fists at her sides. Opening. Closing. Opening. Closing.

Opening, and rising to point her palm at the window. “When the spider leaves, the web dies.”

Billy couldn’t believe that Steve moved because of this girl, but he landed against tiled wall again...and again.

Dustin was shrieking as Lucas and Mike held him back. “You’re killing him! Stop! Please!”

The girl sobbed through the blood dripping past her mouth -

A guttural hack of a sound wrenched out of Steve, and the sauna went dark. Not like the lights going out...but like dust out of a vacuum. Soot from a faulty firework making Billy squint and then dodge out of they way of Lucas wielding a lighter and hairspray.

To Billy’s horror, the soot cloud moved. Dodging and evading the hairspray flames - some of it even catching light and moving like cinders.

Lucas, Mike, and the girl chased it out of the building, but Billy and the others looked at Robin wrenching the sauna open. Steve lay unmoving inside.

“Steve? Steve! Oh...god. We need a hospital.”

They didn’t have a hospital. But they did have a lifeguard.

“Move. Let me see him.”

Billy still had no functional idea of what the hell was going on. All he knew was that he didn’t get paid enough for any of this, and his CPR training told him: when in doubt, keep compressions going until better helps comes.

“Max, call an ambulance. Then stand outside to flag them down. Robin, help me move him out of here. It’s too hot.”

For all of Max’s faults, an unsteady head was not one of them. She took off for a phone and Robin was thankfully nearly as tall as Steve and Billy. They lifted Steve with ease and got him to a locker room bench. Dustin and Byers put cool-soaked towels underneath Steve’s armpits as Billy began chest compressions.

Both boys flinched back at the sound of bones snapping. Dustin exclaimed, “That’s not right! That can’t be right!”

“I have to break the sternum off the ribs to compress his heart. Stay the hell out of my way.”

Maybe it was the sound, or the sound coupled with Steve’s sweat and slimed-drenched face, but Robin finally broke. She ran for a toilet and heaved. Then both boys held onto her, crying as Billy gripped Steve’s hair and jaw to open his windpipe and breathe into him.

It was gross. It was terrifying. And it felt like nothing was happening. Steve was cold and unmoving. He tasted strange. Soft lips made acrid and sharp.

Voices echoed in Billy’s ears but he didn’t stop. He counted to thirty and breathed for Steve twice.

Thirty.

Breathe.

Thirty.

He still counted even after an EMT ripped him off of Steve, and left him standing vacantly in the lot as the firework of a truck sped away.

#tw the sauna scene #tw torture #tw medical #harringrove #flayed!steve #neonponders #i'm sorry haha

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kareofbears · 4 years ago

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desperate as that sounds

Five times Ryuji ran for Akira (and one time he ran for himself.)

—

read on ao3 or below the cut :)

It’s 4:45 am with the weather sitting at a brutal -3 degrees when Ryuji really starts wishing that he brought another jacket.

People are lined around Akihabara by the hundreds outside of closed electronic stores, and the sun has yet to even rise. Some people are yawning, some are clutching their rapidly cooling coffee in a death grip, and most have dark, purple bags underneath their eyes—proof of the battle scars that they’ve acquired. Every person here had the same goal in mind: To get what they need and get out as quick as possible.

As it turns out, if everyone has that same mindset, it creates the violent, yearly November tradition that is Black Friday.

Glancing around, he notices that people came in packs, teams. Teenagers and pre-pubescent kids are all scuffling around, hyping themselves up and creating strategies for the war to come. The more seasoned veterans of the yearly massacre came in pairs—the smaller the group, the faster you move, the move land you cover.

At the biggest electronic store in a region that’s already been nicknamed ‘Electronic Town,’ he is fourth in line—an impressive feat, especially for a first-timer. But it came with a heavy toll: he is completely and utterly alone.

”Skull, do you read me?”

Well, physically alone, anyway.

“Loud and clear,” he replies, readjusting the mic in his ear. “Not that I mind, but what’s with the codenames?”

Futaba scoffs. “You think Black Friday is just about the physical aspect? Foolish boy—the psychological aspects are half the battle. If I get you into the mindset that we’re in a Palace, then you’ll get into infiltration mode, and you’ll be OP compared to the nerds out there.”

“Ooo, I like it! Your brain is effin’ galaxy sized!”

“I do what I can for my faithful pack mule.”

“I’ll try not to take that personally.”

His deal with Futaba had been a simple one. She helps Ryuji navigate the horrors of Akihabara during Black Friday in exchange that he acts as what is essentially a drug trafficker sans the drugs. Despite her rigorous societal training she’d undergone with the Thieves, something about entering a borderline stampede still seems somewhat unappealing to her. Besides, he doesn’t mind. He’d always wanted to do something nice for Futaba anyway, and the store that has her computer thing is the same store that holds what he needs.

”Five minutes to go,” her voice crackles into his ear. ”Infiltration route—go!”

Their deal had also come in with an intense tutorial session that ended up lasting until one in the morning. “Floor 4, down 3 aisles, 8 steps in, turn right, second shelf, grab a box that says ‘GTX graphics card.’ Pink, if possible.”

“A+, Skull! You know, if you can memorize that, I seriously don’t get why you’re failing English verbs.”

“Please, this is actually important.”

Futaba cackles. “Now you’re speaking my language. With your legs and my navigation, this’ll basically be a Tuesday afternoon in Leblanc.”

People around him are starting to straighten up, some going as far as to remove the extra layer of clothing and shoving it in backpacks for maximum speed and minimum restrictions. “Damn, people here look more intense than some dudes in my track meets.”

“If you’re throwing out portable chargers with 30-hour battery life for only 800 yen, you’d be a little intense too.”

Ryuji scoffs and begins to stretch, being extra sure to get his right thigh. “I’m plenty intense. Just last Saturday, I almost beat the Big Bang Burger challenge.”

“Pretty sure Akira beat that on his second week in Tokyo. You know, you still haven’t told me why you’re bothering with this whole Black Friday mess. I didn’t peg you for an electronics type of guy, and your phone is as crappy as your posture.”

“Rude! But I can’t argue with that.” He starts to run in place, and for a brief second, he wonders if he should’ve packed a protein shake.

“Well, too late now. If your thing sells out because you didn’t want to give your Navi information, that’s on you.”

“Gimme some credit, Futaba,” an employee who looks equal parts sleep-deprived and terrified approaches the glass doors. “Ain’t no way in hell I’m failing either of us this morning.”

The glass slides open, and as if sunlight was released from the captivity of the clouds, or perhaps a meteor just broke through the earth’s atmosphere, the people start pushing, shoving, and flooding inside. The crowd looked both impenetrable and unwavering; an unstoppable force and an immovable object rolled into one giant stream of desperate shoppers.

Ryuji spares a split-second to crack his neck. Mission Start.

The moment he breaks through the initial threshold, people who were only one step behind him suddenly became ten, twenty, thirty. Weaving through crowds and aisles with the precision of a seamstress, Ryuji evades it all with ease.

”Skull, status report.”

“Smooth sailing, Oracle!” He ducks as an overly buff businessman turns around with a 3-metre pole used for studio lighting threatens to bash his head in. “You’re totally right about the codenames, by the way. It’s almost like I’ve got Captain with me.”

“Right?” She laughs. “It’s all about the mindset.”

Ryuji turns, and finally gets to the stairs—the most brutal section and the biggest gamble. It’s the reason why it was essential that he’s one of the first in line. Once the stairs get jammed with people, it’s game over. Making a mad dash up four flights of stars, he thanks any God that may be that Palaces are fantastic for rehab.

He makes it to the top, panting. It’s empty, save for a few nervous-looking employees. He hopes the smile he throws their way came off as ‘pleasant and grateful for their service’ rather than ‘a delinquent asshole who might steal loads of shit.’

“Down 3 aisles, 8 steps,” he mutters to himself as he quickly scans the fourth floor. “Turn right, second shelf,” eyes landing on his target, he grins. “I effin’ rock.”

”You got it?”

“Of course I did!” He fist pumps before swiping the box. In his excitement, he nearly runs over to give a random employee a high-five. “Alright Oracle, you’re up.”

”I love you so much in a non-weird way. Okay,” he hears the clacking of keys on the other side of the mic. “What do you need?”

“Two words: game console.”

The clacking stops. “You’re joking.”

Ryuji snorts. “I ain’t waking up at 3 in the morning for a joke.”

”Those are hard enough to get as is, and on a day like this—”

“So you can’t do it?”

In the same way every one of the thieves know they could bait Ryuji with a few choice words, it’s a lesser-known fact that Futaba is quite nearly as bad when it comes to open defiance. “Jerk. Of course I can.”

“Then let’s do it!”

“Ugh, fine!” The clacking resumes, more vigorously. “Yikes, only 3 left. Make it quick!”

“Got it,” he replies. He turns around and his stomach drops as he sees people rushing in. “What floor?”

“Third.”

Ryuji groans. The stairs, with people packed in like sardines, are a circus. It would take at least two minutes to try and go down a single flight of stairs. The elevator is even worse, and he honestly wouldn’t be surprised if it had already started to malfunction. Only one choice, then.

He takes a deep breath. “Pray for me.”

”Godspeed, soldier.”

Ryuji, like a wild animal on the loose in the streets of Tokyo, jumps on the handrails and begins his descent that way, begging to the skies that he doesn’t slip and create a domino effect that knocks down a dozen people.

In thirty seconds flat (with no small amount of cursing from both the customers and himself) he jumps off and lands (tumbles) onto the third floor, grinning triumphantly. Eat your heart out, Sumire.

“Oracle, I’m here. Almost broke my ankles. Where to?”

”Straight ahead,” she replies. ”Only one left, though. Better make it quick.”

His eyes land on the last game console, and he sees someone making their way towards it. “Not a problem.”

Ryuji sprints.

Throwing every societal rule and common courtesy into the air, he makes a mad dash and, somehow, miraculously does not bump into anyone or knock down any huge shelves.

In approximately 3 seconds, he grabs his treasure and yells a very loud but completely genuine “sorry!” over his shoulder as he half runs back to the stairs, face red for multiple reasons.

Delving back into the sea of the crowd, trying to navigate himself to the cash register, he sighs. “I’m going to hell.”

”Mission success, then?”

“I had to steal it from some guy! I feel so bad. What if he’s like, buying it for his long lost son or something?”

”Whatever! That’s just part of the Black Friday spirit. Congrats! At least you finally got a game console.”

“Huh? Oh, I already had one.”

Static crinkles in his ear, before, ”WHAT!?”

“Ow! Don’t yell!”

”You already had one and you still did this shopping run?”

“Yeah…?”

”Why?! Are you gonna sell it? Are you one of those sleazy men who take advantage of the good will of gamers, Sakamoto?”

“Hell no!”

”So—“

“Oops, almost at the front of the cash register. I’ll drop off the goods at Akira’s. Talk to you later, shortie.”

Click.

”Wha— Hey! Ryuji!” Silence. “Ugh!”

————

After a much-deserved nap, Futaba climbs up the stairs to Akira’s attic.

“The star has arrived!” she says in lieu of a greeting. “Where’s Ryuji?”

“He left,” Akira answers. He’s looking at something on his worktable. “Your stuff is on the bed.”

Futaba whoops and snatches up the little plastic bag. Peering inside, she sees an adorable GTX hot pink graphics card, and a note. In a horrific scrawl, it writes: dont tell him plz ;)))

She looks up quizzically when her eyes land on Akira’s desk: A shiny new game console.

“Um…”

“Hmm?” he looks up. “Oh, Ryuji dropped it off. Said his mom won it at work, and since he already had one, he gave it to me. Nice, right?”

She opens her mouth, before closing it with a clack. Just two weeks ago, Ryuji had asked Akira in the group chat if they could play video games at his place. Sometimes, it’s easy to forget about Akira’s situation: false accusation, an attic for a room, no definitive meals, not even a proper bathroom in the building, but Akira plays it off like it’s easy. He answered by making a joke that he’s too poor for something like that when you can buy faux battle axes and realistic shotguns instead. Everyone had forgotten about that interaction.

But apparently, Ryuji hadn’t.

He’s an idiot, Futaba thinks. To which boy she’s referring to, she’s not sure.

“Yeah,” is what she says instead. “It’s nice.”

====

The dust motes flying around the attic of Leblanc are lovely. Swirling in senseless formations, floating through the still air like snow. The way none of them collide with each other, as if they have some sort of motion detector that tells them to move out of the way. It’s pleasing to look at.

It’s a shame Ryuji doesn’t give a single shit about them at this moment.

He’s sitting on Akira’s bed, back pressed against the window sill with his hair tipped up, staring unfocused at the wooden beams, eyes glazed over. He’s been like this for the better part of the day, and now the evening is slipping by him. Time continues ticking on like a rigged bomb; an ongoing reminder of how many seconds he’s losing, and how much more he can lose.

He’s considered moving. To walk around the room, shift the dust that’s surely settled on him. Getting up, stretching his legs, outwardly expelling some of his trapped, balled up energy is a good idea. Healthy, even, if those shitty YouTube videos he’s watched on his phone about anger management were on to something. But he can’t. He shouldn’t.

Amidst all the uncertainty and the wound-up anxiety that has currently made permanent residence deep inside his core, he knows that if lets his joints unlock, he’s going to fucking lose it.

Slam a fist inside the dry wood, tear up a blanket, throw the adorable ramen bowl he gave Akira against the wall until it shatters into a hundred pieces. He’s so terrified of ruining this room that he won’t even give himself the option. And Ryuji would rather let hell freeze over than scare Futaba again in his fit of fucked-up rage that comes with the package that is Sakamoto Ryuji.

So he’s stuck on the bed for God knows how long.

Footsteps come up, and he doesn’t need to look down to know who’s going to chew him out. If it’s not Akira that’s going to chide him out of his stupor (which it isn’t, even though Ryuji would do anything if it means that Akira’s back here with them), then they’d send in someone who’d drag him out of it with her nails perfectly manicured.

“You look terrible.”

“Screw off,” Ryuji spits automatically, and he cringes inwardly. Ann doesn’t deserve the sharp end of his horrible mood. It’s not her fault that it feels like his insides feel like they’re trying to eat their way out.

She ignores him and moves to hop on top of the old work desk. The wood creaks underneath her. “You’ve been here all day.”

“I know.”

“Did you sleep last night?”

“Yes. No.” He feels Ann’s stare burn into the side of his face—a ghost of Carmen’s presence. “I don’t know.”

“He wouldn’t want to see you like this.”

Irritation swells in him. She’s never learned to take a hint in her life. “Really? Are you seriously saying that?”

“Are you saying he would?”

“I’m saying he’s too busy having the living shit beat out of him to see me like this.”

His body twitches, and that’s all he needed for his resolve to break down. He jumps from the bed, feet landing heavily enough that he’s sure they can all hear him from the floor below. Unconsciously, his feet pace around the small room; quick with agitation but heavy with dread. Anything to distract from doing something stupid.

“You’re worried about me, what, not sleeping? For lying down on this damn bed for too long? Screw that. Akira’s being grilled like cheap meat for the past couple of days and you’re expecting me to act normal about it? That’s bullshit.”

Bad. This is bad. His fingers are already curling in his fists, eager and all too willing to be used. He settles for balling the edge of his shirt instead.

“He isn’t here. That’s the fact, isn’t it? And what the fuck am I doing about it? Freaking out? Trying not to throw a tantrum about it like some kind of stupid kid? Am I really this messed in the head that everyone on the team is—-is hiding from me like I’m some kind of—” he cuts himself off.

Delinquent.

Ryuji takes a deep breath, fully inhaling and slowly exhaling. He focuses on the dust motes again. In and out. Countdown from ten. He can do this. He can get a grip on himself. Thank God it was Ann that came up—if it had been anyone else, he doesn’t think he can put his pride aside as easily. (Unless it was Futaba. God, he loves her so much.)

For a while, it was silent except for his breathing; it stuttered occasionally, but eventually it evens out. Ann only watches from her perch.

When he feels stable enough, Ryuji drops to sit on the hardwood.

“Okay?” she asks. Ann never babies him when he gets like this—she’s good that way.

“Okay.” And he really is. Not completely, of course not. His nerves weren’t strung as tight, but he still feels a heavy weight right in his stomach.

She hops off the desk and goes to sit in front of him on the floor. Crossing her legs, Ann waits. They regard each other for a long minute.

“He’s the toughest guy I’ve ever met,” he says. It feels weird saying this out loud, instead of repeating the mantra in his head like a broken record. “If anyone can handle this, it’s Akira.”

She rolls her eyes. “Duh.”

“He’s going to be okay.”

“I know that.”

“Sooner than later, his dumb ass is going to be walking through the door downstairs.”

“You bet he is.”

“And I get to yell at him as much as I want.”

“Get in line.”

“I’m not going to lose him tonight.”

Ann reaches over—slowly, giving him plenty of room to shift away—and places a hand on his knee. “You’re not going to lose him tonight.”

Ryuji laughs, a little breathy but still genuine. He prods at her hand. “When’d you get so good with me, Takamaki?”

“I do the Lord’s work around here, free of charge.” She grins, before her tone drops again. “Can you do something for me, though?”

“Lay it on me.”

Ann pulls back and leans on a propped hand, her blue eyes piercing. “When Akira comes back, and he will—”

“And he will. No doubt about it.”

“Obviously. He��s the best person for this. But when Akira comes back, he’s…” Ann gnaws on the inside of her cheek. “He’s not going to be okay, Ryuji.”

Somewhere in his mind, he already knew what she was going to say. While the biggest of his worries is that he’d never see Akira walk through the doors of Leblanc again, there was a quieter fear. A very specific fear, one that Ryuji knows all too well. Because stories don’t just end at the climax of a single event—they keep going. It’s the fear of what happens once he does see Akira.

The aftermath.

The bell chimes downstairs.

His heart lurches, and he makes the briefest of eye contact with Ann before he’s gone.

He’s the toughest guy I’ve ever met.

It’s like his feet have a mind of their own.

If anyone can handle this, it’s Akira.

In an instant, he’s scrambling towards the stairs on all fours before pushing himself up.

Sooner than later, his dumbass is going to be walking through the door downstairs.

His hand finds its hold on the old wooden railing as he sprints his way down. More than once, he almost trips and bangs his head into the wall.

And I get to yell at him as much as I want.

Rounding the corner, he jumps on the landing, ignoring the sharp pain that shoots up his thigh. He ignores the stares from everyone else. Looking up his breath catches in his throat. Gray eyes meet his brown ones. He takes one step forward, and then another. And then he sprints the rest.

He’s going to be okay.

Ryuji stops himself right in front of him, an arms-length away. Akira’s face looked like it’s been through hell and back. Split lip, black eye, bruised cheekbone. An intense fury flares up his spine when he sees the grime and dirt up along his temple.

He hesitates.

As much as he wants to reach forward, close the gap, to make sure that this boy that he can’t afford to lose is real… he can’t do it.

Because he knows what would happen if he tries to cross a boundary that isn’t ready to be crossed—he might not be ready. Ryuji could hurt him by touching any injuries he doesn’t know about (God, how much more is he hiding in there? He’s this close to either throwing up or throwing a punch). But what he’s most scared about, what he’s terrified of doing, is touching Akira in the state of mind he’s in right now. For someone to grip him, grab him, even just brush past him right now, it might be too much. Judging by how beat up he looks just from his face? That does shit to people. That changes you.

Ryuji would know. So he keeps his distance.

Akira’s eyes turn dark, and for a second, Ryuji is terrified that he must’ve overstepped a boundary.

Then he throws his arms around Ryuji, the force knocking them both back by a couple of steps.

“Akira?” he asks, bewildered. Never in their friendship has he seen Akira act like this. It sends alarm bells ringing through his head. “What—”

“Don’t,” Akira cuts off, voice hoarse and quiet, so quiet that even this close, Ryuji is straining to hear him. The arms around him tighten. “Don’t be like that. Please. I can’t. Not right now, Ryuji.”

It hits him all at once. And in his sixteen years of living, Ryuji doesn’t think he’s ever been stupider.

Akira’s been trapped in an interrogation room with nothing but a bunch of make-believe police officers. He got the shit beat out of him, had to stage his own suicide.

And Ryuji just tried to push him away.

He lets his arms wrap around Akira tightly; not too tight, but enough to make sure he won’t slip away from him again. (Never again. Not if he can help it.)

“I’m glad you’re back,” he whispers. Tilting his head up, he stares at the soft lighting of Leblanc, forcing his lungs to breathe evenly—not for fear of losing his temper, but for fear of exposing the tears silently streaming down his face. “So fucking glad.”

Akira doesn’t answer. He only buries his face deeper into Ryuji’s shoulder.

Ann was right—Akira isn’t okay. Not for now, not for awhile. It’s up to Ryuji and everyone else in their group of friends to fix that. That’s fine. They’ll all take as long as they need. He isn’t okay right now, but he will be. They can work on that.

But one thing was clear.

I’m not going to lose him tonight.

====

Summer in Mementos is pretty gross.

Granted, it’s always nasty in here—there’s a perpetual air of moisture, like the inside of a whale, if Ryuji had ever been in one (he’s basing that off of an American movie Ann showed them last week; he didn’t even know it was possible for a fish to get lost in the ocean). There’s also the ongoing sound of trains passing by them on loop, and to him, trains are just inherently cramped and humid and always too sticky for his liking.

Of course, there’s the disgusting, weird amalgamated Shadows that litter every level of Mementos. At least in Palaces they sort of resemble something from the real world, but he guesses they didn’t even bother with these ones. The worst part of all this is that right now, it’s hot, but not hot enough for the Shadows to process a heat wave.

So essentially, they’re fighting with additional bucket loads of sweat, but with none of the usual reward that comes with it.

Well, not that they needed it.

“Fox.”

“As you wish.”

Yusuke’s boots skid to a halt as he points his katana at the fast-moving Shadow, the tip perfectly still. “Your assistance, Goemon.”

They’re on their weekly Mementos grind, the list Mishima keeps updating finally too long to ignore. (Akira hates it when things pile up. It’s a big reason why Ryuji hastily cleaned up every time he wanted to come over. Now though, he doesn’t even bother.)

The current All-Star team includes Yusuke, Makoto, Ryuji, and Akira, with the rest of them keeping a close eye in case they need a quick shift in strategy.

From his katana, black ice crawls in the ground beneath rusted train tracks, the air suddenly chilly despite the humidity that was there a moment ago. Frost shoots forward, encasing the legs of the Shadow only to shatter with a strong jerk forward. It roars, the ear-piercing sound causing the scattered debris around them to vibrate. Akira clicks his tongue.

Strong against ice. Easy fix. Ryuji mouths the words along with Akira when he says, “Panther, you’re up.”

“Finally!”

Ann darts in, high-fiving Yusuke as he rushes out. Ryuji can see Makoto pat Yusuke on the back, sympathy etched on her expression and Futaba mussing his hair. He always took it the hardest when he had to be switched out.

Akira’s gloved fingers brush the edge of his monochrome mask. “Come, Principality.”

As if a human version of justice has been summoned down to earth, the winged statue floats for a moment, eyes filled with scorn as she casts a simple, yet effective memory loss spell. The Shadow shakes its head aggressively. It works, but it won’t hold for long.

“Skull.”

“Don’t mind if I do!”

He grins and sprints right, squeezing into the Shadow’s blindside. It tries to twist around to take a swipe at him, but Ryuji is too fast—he slides right between its legs to confuse and disorient it. Once it seems like it completely lost sight of him, he raises his hand to grip the edge of his black mask. “Come on out, Captain!”

It’s a classic tactic; make the enemy lose focus, stun it, and stop it.

A pirate straight out of the Caribbean materializes from the embers of his mask—Captain Kidd in all of his glory regards the Shadow with a look of disdain before sparks fly from the hull of his ship, and an intense streak of lightning bursts forth, shocking its target like something from a regrettable movie about torture, knocking it down to the ground, a buzz perceptible even from here. He might have overdone it.

Ann whistles. “You didn’t even let me get a chance with it.”

“You can have the next million Shadows we bump into, I promise.” He calls Captain back into his mask, fragmented pieces forming together impossibly quick. “We good, Leader?”

Akira nods. “Just let me get the loot,” he smiles at Ryuji. “Awesome voltage on that last one, Skull.”

A grin stretches over his face before he can stop himself. He won’t deny it—getting a compliment from Joker was always something he filed away for later.

He’s too busy feeling pride surge through him that he can’t even bother to get ticked off when he hears Morgana scoff. “It doesn’t matter how good that attack was; he got in the way of Lady Panther’s finishing blow. That’s a crime in my eyes.”

“But doesn’t that just mean he saved her from doing anything?” Makoto raises an eyebrow. “Technically, he prevented any danger from befalling her, right?”

“Queen, as a gentleman, I have an obligation to tell you that that is a sexist notion.”

“You did not just say that.”

Something makes Ryuji pause. Immediately, his eyes flicker around them automatically. He tunes their chattering out, and finds himself tapping his foot, a slight jitter overcoming him. His nerves are trying to tell him something. Or maybe he’s imagining it? Is it just an aftershock from the intense lightning he cast out? No. It’s been too long since he’s had any problem with electric moves, and he’s never had problems from ones that he threw out himself.

Something was wrong, and he can’t put his finger on it.

He rattles his brain trying to figure out what it is. No one’s hurt, everyone’s safe and together. Well, mostly together, since Akira’s still approaching the Shadow—

A cold sweat drapes the back of his neck. Akira is still approaching the Shadow.

The Shadow hasn’t disintegrated yet.

“Akira—!”

The name slips past his lips, codenames forgotten. In slow motion, Ryuji sees Shadow’s body tense, its mouth frothing with what looks like liquid magma made from pits of hell—specializes in curse, and a strong one at that; Ryuji can feel the potency of its malignancy from where he’s standing. He watches as Akira stiffens, fingers twitching towards his mask, ready to retaliate, or at the very least, defend. And like a domino effect of bad luck, Ryuji feels bile rise to his throat.

Akira is good at what he does. Infuriatingly good. Took the whole Metaverse bullshit like a fish to water. But even he can’t switch Personas the same moment he summons them.

Principality would crumple like tissue paper against the Shadow. And Akira along with it.

You’re too late, a voice whispers in his head. You wouldn’t make it.

A heartbeat passes. And then Ryuji is flying.

It’s never too late, screams back something stronger, something unshakeable. Not ever. Especially not for him.

His boots hit the ground like the first strike of lightning amidst a storm—impossibly fast and unexpected. Lungs wheezing and legs throbbing, he crossed the distance in the span of a breath.

The Shadow throws the curse at Akira, red and black and filled to the brim with intensity, and Akira’s eyes can only widen, pupils dilated wildly to the point where there’s only black—a mirror of what’s about to hit him if Ryuji isn’t fast enough.

He doesn’t hesitate.

Ryuji shoves Akira, hard enough that he crashes onto the ground and he can hear the breath forcefully leave his lungs, and suddenly Ryuji can’t hear anything at all. His fingertips are fire and ice, his sense of surroundings have completely dissipated. Any energy in his body is being drained, like a dam cracked into millions of pieces—and all he’s left with is air. Vaguely, he can hear a choking noise, a broken sort of sound.

The blow is not just a violent one—it never is, with curse attacks. Instead of just feeling his skin bruised or blood running down his temple, he also feels himself get weaker, his mind growing heavier. An attack on the mind and body; a perfect cocktail of fucked up.

The last thing he sees before he loses consciousness is the glint from Akira’s knife slicing through the Shadow’s throat.

====

Tokyo is currently at a wicked thirty two degrees.

The sun radiates scorching temperatures down from the sky, the concrete eagerly absorbing every bit of its heat, making something akin to walking across hot coals. It’s hot enough that a mirage is visible to the naked eye. It’s hot enough that every ice cream store has a forty-minute line-up. It’s hot enough that no birds were flying, in fear that they may truly be fried by the sun above them.

Basically, it’s hot as hell.

“Ryuji-chan, pick up the pace!”

But Haru is more vicious than any conceivable temperature.

Looking like a survivor who was lost in the desert for several days, Ryuji lets out a half-garbled battle cry and sprints the last dozen meters. Haru clicks her stopwatch.

Sitting on a lovely lilac blanket, she tsks from underneath the shade. “Three seconds slower.”

“Ugh!” he collapses beside her on the cool grass. If she looks at him from a certain angle, she can see the steam positively radiating off of him. “I’m going to beat the living shit out of the sun.”

“You know I’d support you in anything you do, Ryuji-chan, but I don’t think you’d be fast enough to catch it,” Haru says. She hands him a cold water bottle. “Drink slowly.”

He rolls over so that he can squint up at her. “You’re mean.”

“I’m harsh,” she corrects, shaking the bottle in her hand. “There’s a difference.”

He takes it. “Have you done this before?”

“Helped someone train in running? No. But,” she rummages through her pastel pink tote bag, and proudly shows him a handful of books. He squints at them. “Since I’m so new to the group and everyone has such broad interests, I decided to try reading up on them! Did you know that drinking cold water after running results in less dehydration than drinking warm water?”

Ryuji stares at her. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For saying you’re mean. You’re not mean. You’re real nice, Haru.”

She smiles at him and pats his head, despite the overflowing heat and moisture settled on top. “You’re very sweet Ryuji-chan, but that’s not going to make me go easy on you.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re the tough-love kind of coach.” Ryuji sits up, cracking open the seal. Chugging down the water, he makes eye contact with Haru before slowing down substantially.

He dumps the rest of it on his head, sighing and shivering in relief. “That’s the good shit.”

“Why not wait for the sun to go down a bit?” she suggests. “The heat is really scorching, and there’s still plenty of time to keep training later.”

“Nah,” he stretches his arms behind his head before he stands again. “I gotta keep going while I still can.”

Haru frowns. “Overexertion isn’t going to help anyone.”

“Don’t you worry your fluffy head! I may be stupid, but I know when to stop when I gotta.”

“I really think you should rest for a bit.”

“I will when I’m done, I promise.”

“You looked rough in that last lap—”

“Haru,” Ryuji is grinning, but his tone leaves no room for argument. “I’m going to keep training.”

They stare at each other for a few moments, before Haru’s shoulder sags slightly. “Alright.” He’s about to say something when she cuts him off. “But only if you tell me why you’re so insistent.”

Ryuji shrugs. “If that’s what it’ll take to prove it to you, then sure. It’s kinda stupid, though.”

“I’m sure it’s not.”

“Oh, wait till you hear it,” he laughs, a little shy. “So you know how Mona and Futaba are, like, the Metaverse experts? And Makoto is the big brain? And Yusuke does the whole calling card part?” Haru nods, and he continues. “Well, I’m not really… anything. Ann already took the role of moral support and there’s no way in hell I’m the ‘brain’ in anything. Jeez, last time I picked up a paintbrush was in kindergarten. So I figured, I’d be the fast one, you know? The one that can get to someone fast enough to help them out.” Ryuji’s grin turns into something softer; less edge and more fond. It does something to her heart. “And if it’d help ‘Kira down the line, then it’d be worth it, right?”

Haru stays silent.

“Anyway! That’s enough of that cheesy shit.” He moves back to the track, running shoes scuffing at the concrete. “Wish me luck, maybe I can actually catch up to the sun this time. Teach it a lesson.”

“Ryuji.“

Looking back, he gives her a curious look. “Yeah?”

Haru hesitates.

I never once thought you were stupid. You’ve given so much more to the team than you can imagine. You have no idea how many times you’ve helped Akira without even lifting a finger.

“I have a cooler full of water behind me, so… please try your best out there.”

Ryuji gives her an enthusiastic salute. “Yes ma'am!”

He runs off, the sun continuing to beat down him relentlessly.

====

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Ryuji knew they were all going to die someday. It’s inevitable. The circle of life, the winds of time, la vie en rose, etc.

He just didn’t expect it to happen at the age of 16, on the sinking cognitive ship of their next Prime Minister, wearing a wack-ass leather outfit surrounded by his panicking friends.

“We’re going to die!” Futaba wails, knees shaking uncontrollably to the point where she can hardly keep standing. “I don’t know how to swim!”

“It’ll be fine,” Akira spits through gritted teeth. He’s far tenser than anyone else, red gloves formed into fists and eyes constantly darting around to see what can save their lives. “We just need to focus.”

Makoto points to something on their right and shouts, “There! A lifeboat!”

Sprinting down the slowly escalating ramp, their eyes widen at the single lifeboat propped at the very top of the bow—which is slowly approaching a ninety degree angle. They all had one thought in their minds.

“We’re not going to make it in time,” Yusuke says, quietly.

Akira bangs his fist into a nearby column. “To hell with that. There’s no way I’m letting us die here.”

A heavy silence falls over them. The air is practically crackling with electricity and pure agitation, but there’s also a determination between all of that. Everyone’s overcome with a need to protect their friends and teammates, but they were at a loss of what to do. A quiet realization overcomes the group—there wasn’t going to be a miracle to save them.

Ryuji’s eyes land on Akira. He’s scanning the area, Third Eye activated but unable to pick up anything that isn’t the lifeboat. There’s no panic in his clear, gray eyes, but the terror in it is the most prevalent out of anyone present.

It hits Ryuji, all at once. The boy in front of him may be his age, and even younger than some members of their group, but he is undoubtedly the leader of the infamous Phantom Thieves. Every decision he made had led them here, in this moment, in their imminent death. And if he lets them all get taken, whether it’s through the ocean or the approaching explosions behind him, the truth of the matter is Akira feels that he would be responsible. That it’s his fault that a cognitive boat would take the lives of his friends.

Yeah. That’s not happening.

Ryuji clenches his eyes shut for a few seconds and slowly opens them. He begins to jump in place, hyping himself up.

“Skull…?” Haru asks, brows furrowing.

“Hang tight, guys,” he says, taking quick breaths. He can do this. “I’ll nab the boat.”

A chorus of gasps and heated objections rang through the air, and Akira steps forward, more shaken than Ryuji’s ever seen him. “No. Skull, please—”

Ryuji throws him a wobbly grin, more for Akira than himself. In one smooth motion, he jumps down and hits the ground running.

“No!”

Immediately, he feels his knees and thighs begin to protest, only intensifying the further he sprints up. For a minute, if Ryuji closes his eyes, he can imagine that he’s in a meet. A race. That the screams he hears behind him are his track mates, and not teammates, friends, best friends that would die if he failed to get to the boat fast enough.

He pushes himself even more.

It’s a miracle that he gets to the raft before his legs give out, and he feels a satisfying crank underneath his palms when he rotates the lever. As he throws a thumbs up at his friends, seeing them safe, healthy, alive, he feels relieved beyond words.

He makes eye contact with Akira, and he really should’ve expected the explosion that comes next.

====

His ceiling has seventy-nine plastic stars.

Ryuji stares up at it from his bed, arms crossed behind his head; they’d long since lost their cheap light. It was raining hard outside, enough to rattle against his window like pebbles calling for his attention. He ignores them.

It’s been years since he got those stars—dating all the way back in middle school. He got into a bad habit of sneaking out in the middle of the night to look at the sky from the roof of their apartment building. It scared the shit out of his ma when she finally caught him, scolded him to hell and back. By the end, they found a compromise: she’d buy him a crap ton from the hundred yen store, and they’d stick it up together. When they did, it kept falling down, so she went back and bought him a bottle of superglue. Now you can’t take them off, even if you tried to use a little scraper.

It bothered him, for a while. Young boys were cruel, and anyone who came to visit always poked fun of him for it. It wasn’t until he visited Akira’s room one day, saw how pleased he was that Yusuke bought them for him that he couldn’t help but revel at his own stars again, after all this time.

Ryuji twists his body sideways, ripping his eyes away from the plastic figures. Enough of that.

His eyes have long adjusted to the darkness that surrounds him, allowing a clear view of his room in the limited moonlight. Laundry splayed around his tatami mat from his sprints training today, gaming controllers scattered on the center table from when Akira came over a few days ago. That was a blast. He helped him beat a boss he’s been stuck on for weeks, and Akira beat it like it was nothing, it was the coolest shit ever—

Ryuji forces himself to flip over to glare at the wall. Sleep. That’s a better idea.

He takes a deep breath, forcing his breathing to go steady. There’s lots to do tomorrow—school is a drag, but they plan on meeting up at Leblanc afterwards. The thought allows his muscles to relax. Really, the atmosphere of Leblanc is just so pleasing to him. The warm lighting, the run-down booths, even the smell is a welcome presence. Well, that’s mostly because Akira drags it with him wherever he—

Slowly, his eyes open.

It always comes back to him, doesn’t it?

He rolls onto his back, in a position to stare at the stars again. The rain hammers on.

Ryuji’s a dumb kid.

It’s not a self jab, it wasn’t manifested by some sort of long-standing insecurity. It’s a fact. He’s never been good with a book, never done anything half-decent by picking up a pencil, his mind was never programmed to listen and retain information in long classes. It’s definitely not like he’s the brains of the Thieves, never a strategist of some kind. His ma encouraged him to take on a tutor in the past, and he’d rather bite a finger off than spend her money on wasted potential, so he found himself wandering the streets of Central Street as a way to pass time.

Ryuji’s a dumb kid, but even he knows he’s irrevocably, completely, stupidly in love with Kurusu Akira.

He sits up and ruffles his hair, frustrated. There are too many things wrong with that sentence, too many things that can go wrong because of that sentence. Of course, he finds the one thing that can mess up the unshakeable foundation that he and Akira built for each other. He must’ve really pissed off some God upstairs for him to have a hell-bent queer awakening with his best friend.

No, that’s wrong. It was the furthest thing from hell-bent—it was soft, it was gray, it was raining, and most importantly, it took its time.

They were halfway through Kamoshida’s Palace when Ryuji realized it; the sheer amount of power that hindsight gave him made him pause long enough to get clocked out by a Shadow.

Doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. It can’t matter, because he would never, ever do anything to fuck up what he has. Not again.

Wait, no, that’s not true. Even before Kamoshida, he’s never had something like this. He’s never had someone like him. He’s never had someone who’s so entirely on the same wavelength as him, who’d have his back even when his was against a wall. Kurusu Akira is…ethereal. Out of this world. Cool as fuck. (Hot as fuck, too.) If you lined up the entirety of Tokyo and told him he could pick one. One person out of the whole lineup to be his friend, he’d have his answer in a heartbeat.

See, now that isn’t something that changed with hindsight—Ryuji’s known that he’s been in love with Akira since before they completed Kamoshida’s Palace. And when he figured it out, he didn’t feel shock. His eyes didn’t widen, his heart didn’t start thumping like crazy. It’s more like he just scratched his head in a huh kind of way. It felt like his life had been waiting for that day in April, like everything was at a standstill until he finally met Kurusu Akira. It made sense. Everything just makes sense when Akira’s involved.

Which just makes this all the more fucked up.

He knocks his head back against the wall, eyes stuck on the raindrops’ rapidly moving shadows on his bedroom floor. Karma. That’s probably what’s happening. The world still hasn’t forgiven him for losing his shit, so they decided to make him pine for the only person that he can’t afford to lose.

He can’t even stomach the idea of trying to get over it, to try and put distance between himself and Akira. He spent a lifetime waiting for a miracle, for someone who didn’t know existed. He’s not giving up a single second of time with him. That’s probably why the world relentlessly shits on him; he’s selfish enough to keep the feelings that he has. But he can’t bring himself to regret that decision. Not with the way his breath hitches in his throat whenever Akira walks into the room.

Ryuji’s in love with his best friend, and there’s absolutely nothing he can do about it. He’s accepted it. Just like how the sky is blue, or that he well and truly hates Calculus. It’s a factor of life.

The rain seemed to fall harder, droplets sounding like rigorous hail against the windowpane. He lets out a long yawn.

Ryuji’s in love with his best friend, and there’s absolutely nothing he can do about it.

That’s not the reason why he can’t sleep at night.

Akira is a quiet guy. He gets his point across with as few words as possible, as if each letter costs him fifty yen to say out loud. So he speaks through his expression; a quirk of his brow, a tilt of his head, a certain smile is enough to carry half of the conversation.

And, every once in a while, Akira gets a look.

It comes up at the weirdest times—when the two of them baton pass in the Metaverse, when Ryuji eats ramen too fast and gets sick, when he helps an old lady cross the street. Plenty of times it’s because Ryuji is doing something incredibly stupid (like when he said that the square root of sixteen is six, because if you just get rid of the one, then that makes sense, right?), or when they’re laughing so hard neither of them can breathe. But sometimes it comes up in quieter moments, too. The two of them talking quietly in the attic at Leblanc, or when Akira confesses that he’s relieved Ryuji’s always there for him. (As if there would ever be a time where he won’t be.)

The look is subtle enough to miss but easy to find if someone knows what they’re looking for. The usual attentiveness that resides in Akira’s eyes disappears, in its place a softer gaze; his pupils get dilated, and the edge of his eyes get all crinkled like Valentine’s tissue paper. A half-smile rests on his lips, never quite turning into a full-blown grin, but that’s okay. For some reason, it all reminds Ryuji of the moon. Of soft moonlight. Of streetlamps on empty roads.

Ryuji’s in love with his best friend, and there’s a small, tiny, infinitesimal chance that his best friend might love him back.

His eyelids slide shut, though he knows that it won’t be enough to let him rest.

Realistically, he’s probably wrong. Akira isn’t in love with him, and he’s only seeing what he wants to see. With every eligible person seeming to fall in love with him at some point in time, how would it even be possible that Akira would love him?

He rubs his eyes, desperate to get rid of the unending fatigue that’s plagued him for months on end. It doesn’t work.

Bad excuse. Akira does love him, just like he loves everyone he encounters and befriends and ends up risking his life for. Ryuji’s surprised Akira hasn’t passed out yet, given his bleeding heart for the entire population of Tokyo.

Lightning flashes and thunder rumbles as he rubs his eyes harder.

But what if he wasn’t wrong? What if the signals he’s seeing aren’t based on misunderstood yearning?

When his eyes start to burn, his fingers move up to his hair.

There’s no way in hell he’d ever risk losing his best friend. His partner. His Akira. It’s not something he can gamble. It’s not worth it.

He begins to tug, hands shaking, and he can barely feel the sting of pain from nearly pulling his hair out his scalp.

It’s not worth it. He decided that in the very beginning.

Ryuji buries his face into his palms.

But he is so, so exhausted of being tired.

Lightning flashes, and for a split-second, his room is bright.

Fuck it.

By the time thunder rumbles through his apartment, he’s already out the front door.

His sneakers squelch against the wet concrete, soaking his unsocked feet. He’s sprinting fast enough that the street lights around him blur, and he can feel quick breaths getting pulled out of him. It takes him a few seconds to realize that he forgot to wear a raincoat, but he doesn’t care.

Akira is his best friend. Akira accepted him, flaws and all. Akira loves him, one way or another. That’s what held him back. He can’t risk losing that.

Ryuji quickly checks both sides before running across the street, wiping the rain off his brow, and keeps going.

But that’s what should’ve pushed him into confessing sooner. Because if that’s all true, then that can only ever mean that Akira would accept this part of him too, right?

He jerks out of the way as he almost barrels over a fire hydrant, making him step into a deep puddle. It doesn’t slow him down.

Maybe he would’ve realized it sooner if he wasn’t too fucking tired to think straight.

His lungs begin to complain, his breaths turning to wheezes, but he ignores it in favor of going faster.

Too late for that now. All the matters now is to talk to—

He skids to a halt.

In front of him—eyes wide, hair drenched, no shoes—stands Kurusu Akira.

Ryuji’s mouth falls open, and for a minute, he almost laughs. Of course. He should’ve known. Just as he’s willing to sprint to Akira at an unholy hour in the night…

He smiles sheepishly at him, and Ryuji feels his chest constrict in the loveliest way possible.

…Akira would do the exact same thing for him.

The rain slows, and the thunder ceases for a moment. The world pauses long enough for both of them to speak in the same breath, the same heartbeat:

“I’m in love with you.”

#fic tag #akiryu #pegoryu #fanfic #writing #ryuji sakamoto #akira kurusu #persona 5 #persona 5 royal #mine #desperate as that sounds #and yeah man thats a jon bellion song #fic

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what-big-teeth · 4 years ago

Text

Reveal (Cambion Boyfriend, pt. 1)

Gender Neutral Reader x Male Monster [Part 2] [Part 3] tw: mentions of alcohol ; kidnapping White rum, mint leaves, soda water, lime juice, and sugar… “Your mojito on the rocks. Enjoy!”

The middle-aged diner gives you a hearty thanks and slaps a fresh 20 dollar bill on the counter with a brown hand. He yells for you to keep the change over the noisy weekend crowd, and you’re more than happy to take the offer.

It’s another step closer to paying your way through graduate school.

At first, the idea of becoming a bartender after college didn’t sit well with your parents. Not because of the job choice, however. Your aunt’s popular mixology book collection is something they’re rather proud of. No, according to your folks, taking a long break from school could lead to you never going back.

They suggested taking out a few student loans to make ends meet. Live on campus to deal with a much lower residency fee. You agreed to staying in a dorm, but you couldn’t stomach being in near-perpetual debt for years to come. Very few people have gone through a higher educational career without incurring any debt. The odds of such a thing happening to you are astronomical. But damnit if you were at least going to try and curb whatever debt you could with your paychecks.

It helped that your place of employment was one of the more popular restaurants in town. Owned by a local, African-American family, Papa Ruben’s gained acclaim with time and great customer service. Hell, you were one of the diner’s loyal customers before Ben helped you land your job. Since starting, you’ve seen many familiar faces at the bar, but also just as many newcomers. Mostly family members joined by an undergrad or graduate student. And with the quick, accurate service you provide, many customers tip handsomely.

As you make a mental note to thank your aunt (who also served as your teacher), another rush of customers approach the barstools. All of them look at you expectantly, with the first customer who arrived dipping a pale hand into her purse.

You grin and flex your fingers.

Two gin and tonics; a round of tequila shots, four daiquiris, six red eyes, a sex on the beach. Change, bills, and even a few slips with scrawled phone numbers pile into your tip jar. The former is more important than the latter. More so as your heart is set on someone already. Too bad he wasn’t able to come tonight…

“I’ll take a Black Velvet in a Pilsner if you’ve got one.”

You pause from wiping down a cleaned, glass tumbler, perking up. There’s only one person you know who heavily favors such a drink.

A Black woman with deep brown skin leans onto the counter with her jacketed forearms. She shoves her thick natural hair—pulled back into a long braid— over her shoulder. Then grins.

“How’s my favorite barkeep?”

Her smile is infectious. “Holy shit, Jacqui? Is that you?!”

“The one and only,” she says. “Well, the one Jacqui that really matters.”

You chuckle, setting aside the tumbler. “I can’t believe you’re here in the flesh. I haven’t seen you in, what, four months?”

Her painted, red lips tremble and her smile falters.

“Five, actually.”

She goes quiet soon after and glances your way. For a moment, you think the odd light in her dark brown eyes is something akin to guilt. But it’s gone the next second, replaced by her usual confidence.

“But I’m back in town for a few days. You haven’t gone on break, have you?”

You shake your head, already knowing what she plans to ask.

“Got a minute to catch up?”

“For you? More than. Cass will be here soon to start her shift. When she comes, I’ll go on break.”

Jacqui plasters another grin on her face while you get to work on her drink. Once it’s ready, you set it in front of her on a coaster. Her hand quickly replaces yours as she takes a long sip.

“Thanks, babe. When it’s time, you know where to go.”

And with that, she slips off her barstool and past the bustling crowd gathering for more rounds.

This isn’t the first time Jacqui’s made herself at home at the restaurant. Mainly because she and Ben go back to their teenage years and he’s always had a soft spot for her. He treats her like the older sister he never had, mainly as all his elder siblings are boys. In turn, she treats him like a little brother.

It’s understandable; not having anyone around to claim you while growing up can get lonely. Ben will be just as pleased to see her, if he hasn’t already.

Cass arrives on time at a quarter ‘til nine, punctual as always. As she finishes tying her apron, she nods at you and effortlessly takes over once you finish making an appletini.

You squeeze past the busy wait staff and their large trays, waving at a few regulars who greet you by name. By the time you reach the break room, your stiff legs are crying out for relief. And you swiftly provide it by plopping down onto the old couch opposite the door.

The cushions are sunken and the fabric’s fading, but it’s part of Papa Ruben’s earlier days. The Moore family is wonderfully sentimental and this room is chock-full of older times. Photos of Papa Ruben himself, a younger snaggletoothed Ben and his two older brothers, their parents. There’s even a photo of a teenaged Jacqui surrounded by the Moore family.

Speaking of, the door opens, revealing Jacqui carrying a large sleeve of fries. She hops onto the couch next to you, offering some of her food. You snag four piping hot fries, juggling them between your hands.

“Courtesy of Ben?” you ask.

“Of course! My little bro always looks out for me.”

You lick your fingertips free of salt and ‘secret seasoning’ to cool the surface burns.

“Yeah,” you say. “Just like how the Moores would welcome you with open arms.”

She goes quiet, her expression turning neutral. She stares down at her food instead of replying.

“Whenever you visit, you always say you haven’t found a place to put down your roots,” you say. “What if that place is here with the Moores? With me and Cam?”

“It can’t be.” She places the still warm sleeve between the two of you. “I’ve done some stupid shit in the past, and it always find me when I let my guard down. I don’t want Ben, the Moores, Cam or you to get dragged into my mess. It’s something I have to deal with myself.”

You’ve had inklings about Jacqui’s rough past, but never any of the details. This is the closest she’s ever come to emphasizing just how bad things are. You try to think of a way to reason with her, but the break room’s door opens again.

Ben pokes his head inside, prompting Jacqui to slide a convincing smile onto her face.

“Here to offer me more free food?” she says with humor. “How sweet!”

“And have you eat my family out of house and home? No thanks,” he says.

You stifle a laugh, already used to their bickering. Ben rolls his eyes as Jacqui calls him a brat, opening the door fully while rubbing a golden brown hand over his bald head.

“To answer your question, someone’s here to see you. He rushed right over after I told him you were back in town.”

“You’re making it sound like I committed vehicular terror on the way over.”

A pleasant tingle runs down your spine at the familiar voice, in spite of the slight snark.

“With the way you drive,” Ben says, stepping out of the doorway, “Can it be anything else?”

“What’s that? You don’t want to bum another ride in the future?”

At that, Ben’s mouth snaps shut. You all know he’d rather enjoy some peace and space in a car not shared with his brothers. Cam steps through the doorway, chuckling.

“That’s what I thought.”

It doesn’t matter how many times you see him. Every time is new and comparable to that quiet moment during a movie night in college when you realized your feelings for him. A charming smile stretches the rich, golden brown skin of Can’s face and his thick lips as he steps past Ben.

Before you’re able to calm your pulse, Jacqui hops off the couch. You’re able to save her lukewarm fries before they fall over as she pulls Cam into a tight hug.

“Good luck dealing with her,” Ben says.

After reminding you of the end of your break, he heads out. Leaving you to watch Jacqui smack Cam on the back a few times while laughing.

“Look at you!” Jacqui pulls away from him, giving him a quick look over. “I see you decided to upgrade your fashion sense to show off your good looks. Finally. The red bomber jacket and Timbs look good, but the bottle coke glasses? Not so much.”

“Tell that to my eye doctor,” he says.

You watch as they fall into a seamless conversation, filled with snark and laughter. Jacqui even reaches up to playfully tug at one of the short dreadlocks on top of his head. As she comments on how well they pair with his fade haircut, a heavy weight forms in your stomach at the sight. They’re just friends and you know this without a doubt. But that doesn’t stop the bitter jealousy from welling up inside.

As if hearing your thoughts, Cam’s gaze finds yours and he smiles. His dark brown eyes make your stomach flutter in the best of ways.

“I-I thought you had a test to study for,” you manage to say.

“Still do,” Cam says. “But it’s kinda hard to think on an empty stomach. My brain needs some fuel and a break. Plus, I wanted to check on you since you mentioned tonight would be busy.”

Heat fills your cheeks as a small smile stretches your lips.

“Thanks,” you say. The light in Cam’s eyes grows soft.

Of course. We’re friends, after all.

”The moment between the two of you swiftly ends. Because that’s all you are. Just friends. You nod in reply, helping yourself to a few of Jacqui’s fries as she teases him about gunning for an anthropology degree. Cam just rolls his eyes at her before fishing his smartphone from his jacket.

“Order’s ready. I should get back to studying.” He glances up at you with a caring smile. “Let me know if you want to cancel tomorrow’s trip to the bakery. I’ll understand if you’re too tired—”

“I’ll be fine,” you quickly say, “promise.”

“Cool. Have a good night, and be safe on your way home.”

As Cam heads out with one last wave, a gentle tug pulls the now crumpled sleeve of cold fries from your hands. Jacqui lifts a brow at the food then you, giving you a knowing look.

“Oh honey.”

You stiffen. Your brain attempts to think of any excuse or denial, but falls short. You lean back against the couch, sighing in defeat.

“Am I really that obvious?”

“Sure, to Ben and me. But to Cam? Not so much, which is ridiculous. You haven’t tried kissing the living daylights out of him yet?”

“Jacqui.”

“What? It’s a legitimate question. You guys grew up together, lost contact, then reconnected in college. What’s the hold up?”

You purse your lips, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I don’t want to mess up things between us. Yeah, I may like him more as a friend, but I don’t want to ruin our friendship.”

A gentle touch grips your shoulder.

“Sweetheart, you wouldn’t ruin anything by letting him know. Seriously.”

You just shake your head, attempting to give Jacqui a reassuring smile. The concerned light in her eyes tells you it falls horribly short.

“You should join us tomorrow morning after visiting the Moores,” you say, getting up. “Let me know if you want another Black Velvet, alright?”

You leave before Jacqui is able to get another word in.

The rest of your shift is busy, but uneventful. You accrue a huge amount of tips from pleased customers and more slips bearing phone numbers. You and Cass split the money based on the number of hours you both work. When she offers to take some of the number off your hands, you let her. The rest, you crumple and toss into the trash.

The doors to Papa Ruben’s closes at 11 PM sharp, with you, Cass, Ben, and the other staff members congratulating each other on a job immensely well done. After grabbing your belongings, you bid your co-workers a good night.

With the way your stiff legs are throbbing, you’re wishing you hadn’t parked down the way to avoid the early rush. You sigh with relief as your vehicle comes into view. Just a little bit more, and you’ll be on your way home.

You aren’t able to take another step.

The grip on your upper arm surprises you. It tightens to a painful vice and brings you to your knees.

Quick as lightning, another hand swiftly grabs the back of your neck, forcing your nose to the concrete.

“If you try and scream,” a feminine voice says, “that breath will be your last.”

There’s no hesitation in your assailant’s voice. Just a menacing promise laced with danger. You fight against your mounting fear and swallow audibly. Then go lax.

“Good.”

You barely hear the sound of shoes scraping against the sidewalk over your frantic pulse.

“Well?” an unfamiliar, male voice asks.

“You were right. This one’s got the pheromonal stink of a cambion on them. Strong, too.”

“Bear with it a bit longer.” You can hear a smile in the male’s voice. “It’ll be a scent relegated to your memories soon enough.”

One moment you hear shuffling. The next, your wrists are tightly bound together. A piece of cloth is forced past your teeth and tied tightly behind your neck.

Then, a sharp prick to your wrist. Your body seizes.

“Pleasant dreams,” the female voice mocks.

Black spots begin to overtake your vision as you’re lifted from the ground.

“Let’s go. We’ve got a trap to set.”

It’s the last thing you hear before everything goes dark.

#cambion boyfriend #monster boyfriend #monster romance #exophilia #terato #half demon #half-demon #this is the first time writing a gender neutral reader #so I hope it's okay #expect part 2 soon!

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abovethemists · 6 years ago

Text

This Secret is Safe - Chapter 4

Edit: Now with a WAY BETTER BANNER COURTESY OF MY GORGEOUS FRIEND @rumple-belle!!!!

Summary: Belle finds herself knocked up at the most inconvenient of times. If only she could stop making a mess of her life and the lives of those around her, she might find the ingredients for a happy ending. Or, Raven saw Waitress and this happened.

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3]

Read it on AO3

A/N: There is a domestic violence warning on this chapter.

Mornings in Storybrooke never changed much, each day a carbon copy of the one before. Dawn broke over the sleepy town just like always, illuminating the broken clock tower over the boarded up library that had stood closed since head librarian Colette French’s death 8 years prior. Just like the hands on the clock face, frozen at 8:15 for as long as anyone could remember, the town itself seemed frozen in time. The shops on Main Street opened for the day, workers headed off to the granite quarry and the cannery, and fisherman prepped their boats on the docks.

And every morning at Granny’s Diner, Belle would set out the day’s pie selections in the glass display case, scrawling the special across a chalkboard reserved for that purpose.

Despite working until midnight, she was up and dressed at the crack of dawn. She trudged to work in the pale morning light, shivering in her thin jacket. Ruby had purchased her a book on pregnancy that she’d hoarded away behind the flour in Granny’s kitchen to hide from Gary, and her first quick skim of it had told her that tiredness was a common symptom in the first trimester. But even if she hadn’t been pregnant she would have been tired from spending every spare moment at the diner.

The one good side effect of her exhaustion was that it gave her less time to think. She spent the morning numbly going through the motions, her brain barely awake enough to count out appropriate change for her customers let alone focus on the stupid thing she’d done the night before.

And kissing Mr. Gold definitely qualified as a stupid thing.

For Christ’s sake, the man had broken up with her weeks ago. Now he’d flat out rejected her advances. Any interest he’d had in her had clearly run its course. She just wished he wouldn’t run so hot and cold. She never knew where she stood with him. One moment he was flaunting his wife in front of her at the diner and the next he was apologizing and kindly offering her a ride home.

She’d told him the baby wasn’t his so he had no obligation to her. Why was he still sniffing around? He didn’t want her anymore so what was his goal?

She almost missed the days before they’d succumbed to whatever was between them, back when the lines were clearly drawn. He’d been her friend once and seemingly was no longer. She missed the days when he’d come in to the diner for breakfast or pie and flirt coyly with her. Ruby had overheard an exchange between them once and dropped an entire platter of breakfast specials, incapable of believing Mr. Gold was capable of humorous banter.

If their past couple of interactions at the diner were anything to go by, those days were long gone. From here on out things between them would be stilted and awkward. If she’d just been able to keep it in her pants none of this would have happened.

Belle took a break mid-morning, just leaning against the pantry door for a few moments of respite after the breakfast rush, when a booming voice from the dining room made her stomach curdle.

“Where’s my wife?” Gary shouted, strutting in to the diner as if he owned the place. He didn’t. Mr. Gold did. But Mr. Gold never barged in and demanded free meals the way Gary did.

Belle rolled her eyes, sending an apologetic look toward Granny and Anton the fry cook before hurrying to head Gary off before he could get into yet another altercation with Ruby. Her friend had her best interest at heart, but she usually only made situations with Gary worse.

“Gary,” she exclaimed, rushing forward to steer him toward a table and get him seated. “What are you doing here?”

A quick glance at the clock hung over the diner counter told her the time was 10:37, long after Gary was due at work at the cannery.

“Can’t I come by and get a taste of my wife’s pie?” Gary asked with a wink.

“Of course,” Belle said, her voice placating. “I just meant that usually you’re at work this time of day. I didn’t expect you.”

Gary kicked his feet up on the chair opposite his, making himself at home.

“The foreman was riding my ass again,” he said with a wave of his hand. “I told him I was taking a personal day.”

Belle’s stomach plunged. If Gary was taking days off work it meant he wouldn’t be paid for them. He’d be on her for her tips even more than usual.

“Now,” Gary said with a wide smile. “I’d like some of that pie, please.”

“Of course,” Belle nodded. “What kind?”

Gary scratched his chin, looking over at the chalkboard hung over the counter.

“Green with envy peppermint pie,” he read off. “Now what do you have to be envious of? You’ve got the whole package sitting right here.” Gary swept his hand down his body as though showcasing the new car grand prize on a television quiz show.

“Can she return to sender?” Ruby quipped, swanning by Gary’s table with a scowl. Belle shot her a look, but Gary seemed in too good of a mood to let Ruby’s ribbing bother him.

“You’re never gonna get a man with that attitude,” Gary called after her.

“Bold of you to assume I want one!” she called back.

“Bitch,” Gary mumbled under his breath and Belle called back his attention before a fight could start. She was planning on going over to Ariel’s tonight and she didn’t want Gary preemptively banning her from spending time with her friends.

“I’ll get you some of that pie,” she said, placing a soothing hand on his shoulder.

Once Gary had devoured his slice of peppermint pie, free of charge of course, he wiped his hands on a napkin, crumpling it up in a ball and lobbing it at Belle’s back as she waited on another table.

“That was a damn good pie, Belle,” he said as she politely excused herself from Dr. Hopper, promising him a refill on his coffee. “You’re no Sara Lee, but you’re not bad.”

“Thanks, Gary,” Belle said to the faint praise.

“Well, I’ll be off,” he said, getting up from the table. “Lots to do.”

Beer’s not gonna drink itself, Belle thought unkindly.

She walked him to the door of the diner, ready for Gary’s oppressive presence to be gone but before he could leave he spun around, grabbing her lightly by the wrist.

“Hey, give me your tips for the morning.”

Belle froze. She hadn’t had a chance to divide up what she’d give to Gary and what she’d keep for herself yet.

Gary’s grip on her wrist grew tighter.

“Belle,” he said, pulling her slightly toward him. “Where are the tips?”

She reached into her apron pocket, pulling out the rolled up bills she’d managed to earn that morning and handed them over to Gary.

“Thanks, darling,” he said, giving her yet another wide smile. She wanted to knock it off his stupid face. “Now where’s my kiss?”

She reached up on her tiptoes, planting a kiss on Gary’s cheek and he patted her once on the bottom before leaving the diner.

As soon as he was gone Belle felt she could breathe easier, but her cash for the morning was completely gone. She just hoped she could make up for it at lunch.

That evening found Belle staring down Ariel’s antique corkscrew collection next to the glass front cabinet that held her collection of teaspoons. Honestly, she could give Gold a run for his money when it came to hoarding antique junk.

The thought of Gold just made her stomach twist uncomfortably.

As much as she’d tried to put him out of her mind today, as tired as she was, she couldn’t stop reliving the moment in his car the night before. She kissed him, and he pushed her away. It shouldn’t hurt so badly, not after he’d summarily ended their relationship 2 months prior and had little contact with her since. What had she expected? But her heart was still aching.

She passed her hand over one of Ariel’s teacups, hung on little hooks beneath the shelf of corkscrews. An image came to her mind unbidden. Gold’s hands gripping her hips, his soft hair tickling the inside of her thighs, his stubble scraping against her most intimate places as she laid across his massive dining room table. She’d been so lost in her pleasure that her hand had knocked her half drunk teacup clear across the dining room. They hadn’t noticed until afterward, a chip marring the rim of the cup but it otherwise escaping unscathed. She wondered what he’d done with it, if it had gone back in the cupboard to be used by Milah at a later date. She’d probably toss it in the trash if she noticed the chip. Belle suddenly wished she’d stowed it away in her purse and taken it home, a memento of what it had felt like to be truly happy.

That had been their last night together and the only night they’d ever spent cuddled up in his bed. It was in those stolen moments, in the still darkness listening to Gold’s even breathing beside her, the feel of his arms wrapped around her from behind, that Belle first thought this could be something more than two lonely people finding release in each other’s arms. For a moment, Belle let herself believe that maybe, just maybe, this was love. She should have known better.

A few days later he’d told her the whole thing had been a bad idea and they needed to stay away from each other. Up until last night, they’d kept that bargain.

And despite all of it, her lips were still stinging from his kiss, her heart still thumping away painfully at the very thought of him.

Belle shuddered, letting her hand drop from the teacup that prompted these recollections. Maybe it was love, but if it was, it was a one-sided thing and Belle had enough disappointment in her life. She needed to move on.

“Belle?” a voice came from behind her. She shook her head, turning to look at Ariel. “Were you listening to me?”

“Oh,” she exclaimed. “Sorry, I must have spaced out.”

“I was just going over the menu for the evening,” Ariel said, crossing her small living room to the coffee table and waving a hand over the assortment of food there.

“Ta-da!” she said proudly, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“You didn’t have to go to all this trouble,” Ruby called from the kitchen where she was pouring white wine. She paused for a moment, glancing at Belle, before going ahead and pouring a third glass. “I could have just brought burgers from Granny’s.”

Ariel shot her a look. “We come home smelling like burgers from Granny’s every day of the week. I wanted something a little special for tonight.”

Belle smoothed her hands down her skirt, joining Ariel by the coffee table and looking down at the spread.

“So what’s on tap for tonight?” she asked.

“We have fresh salmon and tuna rolls, yellow tail sashimi and this,” Ariel said picking up a white plate with several pieces of eel bound to wedges of sticky white rice with strips of seaweed and forcing it under Belle’s nose, “is unagi!”

Belle stepped back not trusting her new and extremely potent gag reflux despite the medicine she was taking.

“How can you afford all this fresh fish on diner tips?” she asked.

Ariel shrugged. “My dad pays for my apartment, I’m single and childless, I don’t even have a cat. What else do I have to spend my money on?”

Belle shook her head, feeling a twinge of jealousy at her friend’s financial freedom.

“Then why don’t you leave?” she asked, deadly serious. “If I had that kind of freedom I’d be long gone from here.”

“Same,” Ruby said, returning to the living room with the glasses of wine and handing them out. “But I can’t afford it and I can’t leave Granny. I know she masks it well, but she’s getting old. She can’t run the diner all by herself anymore.”

Ariel just shrugged again. “I like it here,” she said. “I like you guys and the diner and my apartment. It’d be nice to have someone to share it all with, but I’m in no hurry to leave.”

“So we’re looking for a local love then,” Ruby said, setting her wineglass on the coffee table and scooping up Ariel’s laptop from the sofa. “Fiery redhead looking for the spark to stoke her flames��?

“No!” Ariel exclaimed. “I want it to sound earnest, you know? Not like I’m selling something.”

“You are selling something, honey,” Ruby said, flopping down on a pillow next to the coffee table and pulling up the dating website. “Yourself.”

Ariel shrugged, helping herself to some of the sushi.

“Just don’t make me sound cheap,” she said around a mouthful of salmon roll. “I want to attract a classy guy.”

“Then maybe don’t talk with your mouth full,” Ruby quipped.

Belle sat down on the couch, watching her friends bicker and sip wine. She felt like she had the weight of the world on her shoulders and she couldn’t even imbibe.

“Okay, what are your hobbies?” Ruby asked. “You need things that make you sound fun and adventurous. What about rock climbing?”

Ariel frowned. “I’ve never been rock climbing.”

“You should be honest,” Belle interjected. “Honesty should be the cornerstone of any relationship. Don’t lie to make yourself into something you’re not. Lord knows you won’t be able to keep that up for a lifetime and you’ll only make yourself and the other person miserable.”

Ariel looked at her, concern etched across her face. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’ve barely touched the food.”

Belle shook her head. Ruby already knew, she might as well tell her other best friend as well.

“No, not really,” she said, twirling the still full wineglass around on the coffee table in front of her. “I’m pregnant.”

“Oh!” Ariel gasped. If she’d been in a more cheerful mood, Belle would have laughed at the facial journey Ariel went on from an excited smile to confusion to wide-eyed realization. “Oh this is a bad thing isn’t it?”

“It’s a complicated thing,” Belle countered.

“Oh shit!” Ariel exclaimed, jumping up from her perch on the sofa. “You’re pregnant and here I am forcing alcohol and raw fish on you! I’m so stupid. What can I get you instead? A coke? No, god dammit the caffeine! Think, Ariel!”

Belle had to chuckle at her friend’s outburst.

“It’s fine, honey, I’m fine.”

“You might be, but this one sure isn’t,” Ruby said as Ariel set off into the kitchen, digging through her pantry in a fervor. “Sit down before you hurt yourself!”

They finally got Ariel calmed down after she’d found a box of wheat thins in her pantry and pressed them on Belle. An hour later they had a reasonably well thought out dating profile composed and Ariel sat with her finger poised over the button to click publish.

“Are you sure I should do this?” she asked, looking between her two friends.

“If you don’t, I will,” Ruby said brazenly, reaching across to hit the button herself. Belle knocked her arm away.

“Just try it,” she told Ariel, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, but stick some bait out there and see if you get any nibbles. There’s plenty of fish in the sea and you can always throw back the ones you don’t want.”

Ariel inclined her head at her. “Thanks for the fish puns,” she said before decisively clicking publish. Ariel’s new dating profile flared to life on the screen. “Now what?” she asked.

“Now you meet the man of your dreams, of course," Belle said. If only love were that easy.

Belle trudged home that night looking forward to climbing in to bed and falling fast asleep. She had to work the breakfast shift in the morning and she was already running on empty. Her pregnancy book said she should be getting more rest now in the first trimester, not less. But Belle had never done things by the book.

She should have no trouble getting sleep tonight though. Tuesday night meant Gary was down at the Rabbit Hole with the guys, playing pool and getting drunk. It also meant Belle had the apartment to herself and could be sound asleep by the time Gary made it home. Most Tuesdays she’d curl up with a book until she drifted off but tonight she expected to forego the book completely, just slip in to her most comfortable pair of pajamas and go comatose for a few hours.

Her big plans for the evening were abruptly cancelled when she reached the door of her apartment, freezing at the sound of the television on within.

The front door was unlocked and she pushed it open, her stomach sinking at the sight of Gary sprawled across the couch, a beer held loosely in his grip. He looked up at her, his expression annoyed.

“Finally fucking home,” he grunted as Belle shut the door behind her, wishing she could bolt away and never return. She should have just slept on Ariel’s futon like her friend had offered.

“It’s Tuesday,” she said dumbly. “Why aren’t you out with the guys?”

“Because I wanted to spend some quality time with my wife,” he said. “Where were you?”

“I was at Ariel’s,” she said truthfully, slipping her jacket off her shoulders and tossing it across the back of the sofa.

Gary grunted, turning his attention back to the TV.

“Hope you weren’t out spending my money,” he said. “You and your lazy ass friends.”

Belle bit her tongue, holding back the defense of her friends that wanted to pour forth. It wasn’t worth the fight.

“I was just at Ariel’s apartment,” she said. “No money spent.”

She crept past the sofa hoping she could make it to the bedroom without any further discussion. No such luck.

“Good,” Gary tossed out. “Because I fucking quit my job.”

That brought Belle up short.

“What?” she hissed turning on her heel. “Why would you do that?”

“Because my boss was a dick!” Gary said, taking another mouthful of beer and swallowing it down audibly. “Always riding my ass about every little thing. I didn’t need it. I’ll find a better job.”

“Have you?” Belle asked, walking back in to the living room and standing in front of Gary. “Have you found a new job or did you just up and quit a perfectly good job with no back up?”

Gary’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you start nagging me,” he said, his tone menacing. “I get enough of that all day I don’t need it in my home.”

“Gary,” Belle cried. “We need that income! I don’t make enough to support us both.”

“Well maybe you should work harder!” he yelled, throwing his beer across the room with a crash. Belle flinched, staring at the place where the glass bottle had shattered against the living room wall, beer trickling down and staining the carpet.

Gary heaved a sigh. “Now look what you made me do!” he said.

Belle scrambled over to the kitchen, grabbing a dishrag to mop up the beer and collect up the broken glass. A jagged piece of the brown glass dug into her thumb, a drop of blood blooming and dripping down her hand. Belle just stared at it numbly.

“Look, we’re going to be fine,” Gary said, coming up behind her and placing his big hands on her shoulders. “I’ve got everything taken care of. I’ve got money.”

“From where?” Belle asked hollowly, still staring at her bloody thumb. “What money?”

“I took out a loan,” Gary said simply, dropping his hands from her shoulders and heading in to the kitchen to pull another beer from the fridge.

Belle followed him, dropping the broken glass into the trashcan and wrapping the dishtowel around her bloody hand. She felt like a chunk of ice had just slid down her throat, settling in her stomach and freezing her from the inside out.

“Who did you take out a loan with, Gary?” she asked, already fearing the answer. “We don’t have any collateral to put up with the bank. Who did you go to?”

“Mr. Gold,” Gary said with a shrug, confirming Belle’s worst fears.

What must he think of her? She’d nearly thrown herself at him the night before and now he probably thought it was all to secure a loan. He must think she’s the lowest sort of opportunist.

“For how much?” she demanded. “How much do we owe him?”

“Ten thousand,” Gary said, as if that wasn’t an insurmountable amount of money for them.

“Ten thousand dollars!” she exclaimed. “How…how are we supposed to ever pay that back? Why did you take out so much?”

“Well I needed some way to pay the bills,” Gary scoffed. “I quit my job nearly two months ago.”

Belle needed to sit down.

“You mean we’ve been living off of a loan for the past two months?” she nearly screeched. “What have you been doing all day when you were supposed to be at work?”

“Why are you freaking out?” Gary asked. “We’ll pay him back when I get my new job. It’s not a big deal.”

“What job?” Belle demanded. “You don’t have a job, Gary. I make peanuts at the diner. We’re going to be indebted to Mr. Gold forever!”

“Why do you care so much about Mr. Gold?” Gary asked, his eyes narrowing. “Why the fuck are you concerned with him?”

“Because he owns our entire lives! He owns this apartment, he owns whatever you put up as collateral for the loan, we owe him more than we can ever repay! How is that not a big deal to you?”

“Don’t question me!” Gary roared. “I do what I have to for you, Belle, to keep a roof over your head and what do I get in return? Your nagging and your damn questions!”

Belle backed away. She hadn’t seen Gary this upset in a while.

“I’m sorry,” she said on instinct.

“Fuck your sorry,” he continued. Gary grabbed her by the wrist, throwing her away from him until she came into hard contact with the kitchen counter. “I do everything for you and I get no appreciation!”

He pinned her against the counter, his face right up in hers, his lips pulled back in a snarl.

“Why do you do shit like this, Belle?” he yelled. “Why do you make me feel like such a failure?”

“You’re not a failure,” she said, shaking her head. “Please, Gary.”

One of Gary’s hands came up to rest against her throat heavily and Belle froze, too scared to even breathe.

“Why do you do this?” he repeated, his face feral. His hand tightened around her throat and something in Belle snapped.

“Please!” she screamed. “I’m pregnant!”

Gary dropped his hand from around her throat.

“What?”

“I’m pregnant,” she said again, still frozen in her place against the counter. “I was going to tell you. I only just found out.”

Gary’s chest was heaving as he shook his head.

“Pregnant?” he repeated. “We’re gonna have a baby?”

Belle nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks. She didn’t want to tell him like this. She didn’t want to tell him at all. But if it stayed his hand, it was worth it. She had someone else to protect now.

“Shit, Belle,” he said, rubbing his hands on the legs of his jeans. “Little Gary Junior! We’re having a baby!”

It was horrifying, watching how quickly Gary could swing from one extreme emotion to the next. His rage was suddenly replaced by exuberance. After a moment he realized Belle was still pressed back against the counter and he grabbed her hands.

“Oh, baby, come on, sit down,” he said, leading her to the sofa and getting her settled.

She was shaking, words escaping her. All she could do was follow Gary and hope the monster didn’t come out again.

“It’s alright, baby,” he said stroking a hand against her hair. “I just get so angry sometimes. But I don’t want you to worry about anything. I’m gonna get a new job. Tomorrow I’ll go ask around town. I’ll find something.”

Belle still couldn’t find her voice, just sitting there in shock as Gary pulled her toward him, cradling her against his shoulder.

“This will all work out fine,” he cooed, his hand going to caress her still flat stomach. “We’re gonna be together forever, just you, me and this baby. You’ll see.”

“Forever,” Belle croaked out, one last tear escaping and running down her cheek.

She had to escape, for herself and her baby. But Gary's grip on her had never felt tighter.

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #fic: this secret is safe #domestic violence tw #i feel like this chapter isn't great #but it might be me overthinking things #raven's fic

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icebreaker01 · 3 years ago

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Season 2 Predictions

Yeah, yeah, I know. Why Season 2 predictions when season 2 is over?

Actually, I posted this over on site ‘runbyidiots’ (you figure it out) pre-E6. I just wanted to add it to my page for the heck of it.

WARNING!!! Not many spoilers ahead, mostly predictions. But I’ve been known to be pretty accurate. (Please be aware the author of this article is a hopeless romantic and will not make a single apology for it.)

So, countdown at somewhere around 48 hours before we get our favorite little dictator with a heart back. (Pauses to wave a Melanie Rules!!! flag.) When we last left our intrepid little explorer, Melanie was high-tailing it off that sinking ship. I mean, honestly, the way Layton is mismanaging things, I think she stands a better chance at the research station. But that’s for another post. Folks, have you ever spent time alone? I mean really A.L.O.N.E.? Where you can sit in a chair and listen to a clock ticking? Now do it for 30 days. You’re bound to start having a few issues. OK, granted, Melanie has things to do and she’s sort of a loner anyway. And she’s good with imaginary friends. I mean, she had Wilford as one for seven years, right? What I believe we are going to get here, after a stinking long dry spell (OK, it’s only been one episode, but it feels like F-O-R-E-V-E-R!) a lovely plate loaded down with Melanie Cavill insight handed to us in this episode. The really good part is we are also likely to get treated to around 50 minutes of Jennifer Connelly doing what Jennifer Connelly does best. Acting. And all without the messy interruptions of a bunch of side dishes of ‘who cares’. Yes, folks, it’s time for a Melanie-centric episode! Folks, I am so excited about this episode I could run right over to the script writers and kiss each and everyone of them right on the lips! And on a quick side note, I would like to point out that the ‘Goodbye. See you in a month.’ between Melanie and Bennett had all the spark of opening a can of peas. Meanwhile, over on the Melanie/Layton ‘Goodbye’ front........... Anyway......, So poor Melanie is setting up house at the research station. We will forego nasty questions here like ‘Where is the power coming from?’ Maybe one of those sleds was a portable generator. Or ‘Why, after seven years, do you expect one piece of useful equipment to be left? What’s the back up plan if its under ten feet of snow? What if you can’t get inside?’ (Sighes) Who knows? I didn’t see episode two....or three.......or most of season one for that matter. But we do know that she did get in, as that she tapped that first weather balloon, and the previews for Episode 6 say so.

And speaking of which.... We weren’t given a lot in that preview. It was, in fact, the most uninformative 21 seconds of my life. Mostly we know Melanie has a nice little calendar on the wall, is counting down the days until that rolling train wreak Layton is turning it into returns, and occupies her free time hallucinating. But we are also getting a lot of Jennifer Connelly acting screen time, so I don’t care. Honestly, the woman could walk on stage, stand there for 50 minutes, walk off, and I would still give her a standing ovation. Moving on. Back on that sinking ship (AKA Snowpiercer), we have....a mess, folks. Lets be honest. Layton currently has more issues than National Geographic. His top head shrinker/new age guru and author of ’The joy of kinky sex’ is gone, he just lost most of his repair crew (the Breechmen), his own people are likely to get blamed for this, since, although most of the murders seemed to be done when no one else was around, everyone still felt it necessary to wear masks, his favorite whining board is not around (AKA Melanie), and he’s off half the time playing the proud papa, which the general consensus is, he’s not. Honestly folks, I like Layton. I really do. But I swear, if he doesn’t pick that lady back up, I will personally kick his butt off that train, because he seriously needs some help. And that help is spelled with every letter of that woman’s name. And can we PLEASE stop jumping all over poor Audrey, folks? She did not desert. Even though she has every right to. Audrey was given a job to do. She didn’t get it done. Walking back over to Snowpiercer, she sees all heck breaking loose and realizes she needs to stay because they need that comm link up now more than ever. So she makes a perfect turn on those killer six inch heels, and bravely walks back into BA. Ruth, you get some polite golf applause for just staying put and lying to the passengers. WHICH WAS, as I recall, something you sentenced your best friend to death for a few episodes back....hmmmmm, Ms. Wardell? Meanwhile, back at the ranch.....or in this case, the front of the train, poor Bennett and Javi are freaking out because there is no contact between Melanie and the weather balloon. (Bad spoilers ahead) Yes, folks, up until now it has been pretty much just a wrap up of Episode 5. But here we go with predictions for Episode 6. So if you don’t want to know (or don’t care), stop now. So poor Bennett and Javi are wondering what’s up with Melanie. However, over in my little box of things I’ve dug up on the internet, there is mention of a new cast member coming in season 3. Archie Panjabi is joining the cast as Asha; a nice new playmate for Melanie. OK, if she is going to be Melanie’s new best friend, she’s no slacker. Girl’s gotta have something going on upstairs because our girl Melanie only swings with the smart kids.

(Random act insert) (Hand goes up in the back) (Sighs) Yes? (Random reader stands up) Then why do you keep insisting she will go for Layton? Half the time he is about two logs short of a fully loaded steam engine? Because she is not interested in his brains! SIT! DOWN! (OK. I’m done) Anyway...... Back to Asha. If she’s a fairly intelligent person, and she was on the train, she would have shown up by now. Because heaven knows, they need all the smart people up front they can get on this show. Hence, she has to come from off the train.

Now, Melanie going to the weather station and just pinging weather balloons just ain‘t much of an exciting story line, folks. And they keep hinting all over the internet some big additional plot confusion is developing out of the weather station storyline. If it does not, I will be leaving a whole lot of nasty comments on people’s webpages for misleading information. So, out at weather station BFE (Go look it up, folks), Melanie is going about her happy little work while she is also being observed. The people watching her are subterranean dwellers who survived the freeze by going underground and utilizing thermal vents in the earth. Look, surely Wilford wasn’t the only person with a plan, right? I mean, it looks pretty sad for the human race if he was, folks. So, after ascertaining what she’s there for, and is no real threat to them, Melanie finds herself surprise adopted (AKA kidnapped) by this new group. They discover she from that colossal group of idiots on the train to nowhere and decide she is better off with them because she has all the qualifications to join them. Namely, at least two functioning brain cells. Melanie, having decided that even dirt falling off of Snowpiercer lowers the general IQ level overall, feels she needs to get back to save her train. Meanwhile, this new little society isn’t all its cracked up to be and we have a potential season 3 deserter - Asha. Back at the ranch (Snowpiercer), Melanie barely makes her rendezvous with the train. From the looks of the preview (and boy, was it a brief glimpse), there is a possibility Wilford will make an attempt to not stop the train for her. Or that’s just me hoping for a big romantic rescue scene. I mean, at this point I will take anything to get even a shred of hot romance on this show. I would even take a romantic rescue with Javi leading the charge. ANYTHING!

Where things are likely to go: 1. Layton is just greasing the rails on heading down track to becoming the very thing he fought against. 2. Yet another real world metaphor will be inserted courtesy of the Headwoods in paralleling their experiments with those of the Nazi’s and 'was it all worth it as people benefited from it'. 3. No one else needs to die this season as that we just had a whole shiiiiii...........train car load of people die in Episode 5. 4. The only real romance we will ever see in this story is likely to be Josie and Icy Bob. And I’m good with that, because at this point I will take anything I can get. I’ll even take the two Aussie’s, which are currently the only things firing up the engines on those two trains. 5. The writers will finally stop back shadowing off of season 1 and come up with something original again. Ruth having to do the very thing she accused Melanie of doing was the last one of those I am going to take, folks. Just STOP IT! 6. Alex will defect to Snowpiercer. This was STRONGLY hinted at in previews. That and it’s just so darned obvious. 7. WIlford dies.....because I have to be right about something, and its a sure bet. Sean Bean’s characters always die.

#snowpiercer #S2 Predictions Predictions for S2E6 #snowpiercer tnt #snowpiercer tv #melanie cavill

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phantomrose96 · 8 years ago

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A Breach of Trust: Chapter 17

(Act 1: Chapter 1-9 )

(Act 2: Chapter 10 || Chapter 11 || Chapter 12 || Chapter 13 || Chapter 14 || Chapter 15 || Chapter 15.5 || Chapter 16 || Chapter 17 || Chapter 18)

(Act 3 Chapter 19+)

The end of the battle had left an emptiness, a silence beating down on Ritsu that seemed to fill his mouth and lungs with a white-noise nothing. The bleachers pressed cold, firm indents into his back. Mud lapped against his heels. Heavy raindrops spattered his face, rhythmic and dense. And Teruki’s hand gripped firmly around his own.

Ritsu did not return the pressure. His dislocated shoulder would not allow it.

Instead he sunk his left hand into the icy puddle by his side and leaned his weight against it. Shakily, he stood. He braced his back against the bleachers so that they might support him. He did not trust his own shaking, numb legs to support him, the water sloshing at his ankles, flooding his socks, sending shivers down his spine.

Gently, Ritsu tugged his limp hand free from Teruki’s grip, with only as much force as the pain would allow.

Teruki stared at his own extended hand, empty now, palm out and dripping from the rain water still pouring.

“You didn’t shake my hand,” Teruki said.

Ritsu gripped his right arm to his side. The sleeve of his uniform had shredded. He shot it a quick glance, just a bit woozy at the sight of the swollen protrusion at his shoulder, skin stretched tight and tense over dislocated bone. Teruki followed his eyes.

The boy moved lightning-fast. One hand pressed to the back of Ritsu’s shoulder, the other grabbed his upper arm, and slammed. Ritsu’s shoulder popped.

“God! …Hell,” Ritsu hissed. He gripped the smarting shoulder, his face twisted up in sharp pain that eased steadily with the passing seconds. His face loosened, and Ritsu opened his eyes, brimming with a fresh onslaught of tears.

Teruki had returned precisely to where he had stood before. His hand was extended again. “Shake my hand.”

“You did that just so I’d shake your hand?!”

“It’s the peace agreement. There’s no truce if you don’t accept my handshake.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

“You want me to restart the fight?”

Ritsu let out a held breath. Arm still throbbing, he raised his right hand and gripped Teruki’s. Teruki shook once, firmly.

It meant nothing to Ritsu.

He took his hand back, thankful for once for the pouring rain hiding the unsteady tremble in his body. In the wake of sheer terror, fury now sat. Disgust, rage, frustration—at himself or Teruki, he wasn’t even sure. It took a fierce effort to screw his jaw shut, to not whimper at the mangled torn up throbbing ache of his body. Mostly, he wanted to curl into a ball and sob through it, but spite kept him standing. He would turn, and walk away, and not dare let Teruki see him break any further.

You’re not gonna save him… Let him go.

Ritsu turned, careful and slow, gauging each motion for fear that one wrong movement would send pain cascading down his body. He set his left hand against the bleachers to steady himself, and took one step.

“Where are you going…?”

Ritsu winced, and then hated himself for reacting to the voice like that. “Home.”

“Looking like that?” Teruki asked. Ritsu could imagine how Teruki gestured to him.

Ritsu swiveled back on his heel. “Yeah, I am. Whose fault do you think that is?” Ritsu blinked. He heard the small crack in his own voice and looked away. “I don’t have a choice. My parents expect me home.”

“You’re not going to make it home like that without some nosy old lady calling CPS from her window.” Teruki overtook Ritsu, and gestured with his shoulder for Ritsu to follow. “The Salt Mid boys’ locker room is in the basement of the school, right? Show me.”

“Why would I?”

“Because we’re not done talking yet.”

Ritsu shivered, and he felt something sharp and uncomfortable twitch through his core: fear. He was still afraid, as desperately as he didn’t want to admit it. The thought of defying Teruki, of annoying him back into aggression, made his insides squirm. So he relented, as coldly as he could manage, and motioned for Teruki to follow.

The grass squished cold and icy beneath his feet, puddles soaking into his socks. Ritsu was still shivering, and the water that dripped past his lips tasted faintly of blood. He trudged across the whole field, pretending not to notice the steady slosh of Teruki’s feet behind him, nor his own aching injuries. His brain was filling with a new, raw panic over how bad he might actually look. He raised an experimental hand to his cheek, feeling it hot and swollen beneath his palm. When he drew his hand back, oily blood stained his fingertips. His knuckles were split. His ear had been cut. His knees. His face. What would his parents…?

Ritsu snapped back to attention as the ground sloped down. The grass eased into a steady descent, a hill of about 10 feet that led down into pavement. The fence stretched to the right, preventing people and soccer balls from plummeting the raw 10 feet down into the alley below. The alley that currently imprisoned Ritsu’s spirits.

Ritsu blinked. Teruki had gotten ahead of him, already in the alley, picking up a school bag he’d left beside the twisting, writhing spirits. Ritsu descended the rest of the hill, shoes slipping once or twice on the slick muddy slope, his knee protesting at the sharp tense movements needed to save his balance. Ritsu cut right into the sheltered alley. He held back just a bit as Teruki snatched the glowing yellow chains. The spirits let out a collective, cacophonous cry of terror. Teruki clenched his fist, and the chains vanished.

“Get out of here. Before I change my mind and exorcise every one of you.”

A yowl followed, and Ritsu watched in wonder as the spirits split. One dove into the ground, another into the school, a third shooting around the corner. Teruki hoisted his bag over his shoulder, and nothing remained around him. No chains, no spirits—just a sopping wet alley, stinking of stagnant musty rot, and Teruki in the middle of it. The soaking rain plastered his hair down against his neck, hiding any evidence of strangulation.

Then he turned, and the welts were bright and ugly beneath his chin.

“The locker room,” Teruki repeated.

Ritsu pretended like he hadn’t heard.

He moved to the back door, luckily on the same side of the school as the locker room. A single lengthy hall would bring them to the indoor gym where the rained-out sports teams were practicing. Around the other side of the indoor gym were the steps leading to the locker room below.

Ritsu curled his fingers around the outside door handle, and he pulled.

He couldn’t get the door open. His shoulder refused to bear anymore strain, sharp and aching, as though it might tear back out of its socket from the pressure of opening a simple door. Ritsu let his cold, wet fingers slip from the handle. Acting as if nothing had happened, he tried again with his left hand. It opened this time.

Somehow, it was colder inside. The air was crisp, the lights above a heavy fluorescent. Ritsu became aware of how much water poured off his body, the puddle eking out around his shoes, rolling and slithering like something alive. It was tainted rusty and brown. Ritsu pushed his wet bangs out of his eyes and kept walking.

He kept his eyes peeled for any sign of teachers or students wander the hall. He had no clear image of himself, but he felt more exposed beneath the harsh indoor lighting.

If someone saw...

If he was disciplined for fighting…

If his parents found out…

They passed the indoor gym. The door was cracked just a fraction. Ritsu heard the scuffle of shoes inside, squeaking and pattering against the hardwood. A whistle. A roar of voices that made him flinch. He picked up the pace, for fear of any nosy onlooker peeking through the crack.

He turned, and turned again, the sound of wet heavy footsteps keeping pace behind his own. The doors around him were shut and locked, the classrooms inside dark, stripped of even sunlight. The scuffle of basketball shoes followed him on his left as he rounded the back of the indoor gym. Then he reached a set of stairs that led down to a metal door. Ritsu hesitated at the top of the steps. Teruki stopped beside him.

“What?” Teruki asked, impatient.

“Nothing,” Ritsu answered, and he put every bit of remaining energy into hiding the flinch as he lowered his foot to the first stair. His knee bent with the sensation of nails driving through it. And then he did it again, step after step, swallowing the pain until he and Teruki stood in front of the boys’ locker room door.

Teruki was the one to push it open. Ritsu followed.

The locker room was cinderblock on every side, far colder than the rest of the school, sunk deep below ground level. Sparse lighting hung above rows and rows of lockers, sports bags thrown about haphazardly on wooden benches. It stunk of grime and sweat, years of mildew plastered in the grit of the floor and walls and ceiling. Ritsu welcomed it over the earthy musk of mud and blood that had been filling his lungs.

Teruki walked past the rows of lockers. Further back were bathroom stalls. Three sinks lined up beneath a wall-length mirror. This area existed as its own pocket, seemingly separate from the rest of the lockers, and the light only scarcely touched it. The shadows grew heavy along a gradient, the farthest sink half shrouded in darkness. Even farther back, crowned by a single burnt-out hanging light, was a row of four showerheads, no curtains separating one from the next.

The icy ache in Ritsu’s joints was overwhelming. The sting of muddy water dripping into his cut skin, the damp musky coppery smell that assaulted his nose with every breath, the bone-deep chill that sent uncontrollable shivers down his spine.

Ritsu walked toward the showers. He turned the left-most showerhead on, allowing it a few seconds of courtesy to grow hot—not just hot, scalding. Fully clothed, Ritsu stepped beneath it. He let it drench his head, run past his ears and erase the bloody mess entangled in his hair. Raw cuts throbbed at the heat, but it was better than the suffocatingly unclean feeling of mud caking deep into the open flesh.

Ritsu stood like that for seconds on end. Eyes shut, willing the clawing panic in his chest to melt away bit by bit, willing to let himself believe that hot, clean water might cure the physical injuries that racked his body. He let the discomfort of the scalding water overpower the shaky rattle of his ribcage at each breath, the pulsing ache in his knees. Ritsu rubbed his face, and he imagined the cuts melting off his cheeks, dissolving away with the blood.

It wasn’t enough.

Eventually, he shut off the water.

Ritsu stood, motionless, silent, until he raised his left hand, concentrated his aura in his palm, and swept it down his body. The water drew off, splattering against the drain embedded in the floor. He remained just a bit damp, as though wearing clothes from a half-finished dryer cycle. Ritsu couldn’t be bothered to dry himself off again, not with how much energy each manipulation of the water now took.

He moved on shaky legs toward the wall, opposite the sinks and the mirror. He leaned against it, lowered himself slowly, until his legs were out in front of him and he trusted all his weight against the cinderblock wall. He shut his eyes, just for a moment, struggling to hold on to his composure.

When he opened his eyes, Teruki was staring at him.

Teruki leaned against one of the sinks, tall in his posture, seeming to enjoy the chance to watch Ritsu sink to the ground. Teruki was still dripping wet, caked in mud, but Ritsu understood the message. Teruki was comfortable like this. He could stand on his own two feet and smile, smug, drinking in the way Ritsu rattled apart.

This was victory for Teruki.

Only then, only once he was acknowledged, did Teruki push himself off the sink. He twisted the tap on the faucet and drew a stream of water from the spout, a near-flawless imitation of Ritsu. He ran his fingers through his hair, water following, drawing out and cleaning up the muddy spatter that had stained his dyed blond hair. Teruki tossed the water toward the shower drains, and then he swept his hand back across his body to draw out the water soaked into his clothes. The mud followed with it, something Ritsu doubted he could do.

Ritsu stared at the only remaining thing out of place about the boy: the shiny red welting along his neck.

Teruki offered him a smile. “You look better with the blood washed off your face, but how do you intend to pass off all the bruising? Ah, the cuts too. And your eye’s swelling up a good amount, nasty yellow.” Teruki cocked his head. “Go ahead, give yourself a look in the mirror.”

A new wave of icy fear worked its way into Ritsu’s gut.

He pushed himself to his feet. His left knee cracked upon straightening. Unsteady, Ritsu walked toward the mirror. The horror in his gut grew heavier and denser with each step. Both sides of his face were bludgeoned dark, noticeably swollen, with rows of razor-thin cuts criss-crossing his cheeks. His left eye was puffy, already saturating to a jaundiced yellow. His body—that he would be able to conceal beneath clothes. But his face…?

“It could get infected too,” Teruki added.

Ritsu raised his left hand to his cheek, and set it there. Panic lit like a fire in his chest. His mom would notice. His dad too. Would he even be allowed out of the house…? Would he be forced to explain…?

He couldn’t go home like this.

He had no other plan in mind.

Ritsu heard of the click of something plastic opening beside his ear. He flinched, turned, and found Teruki holding up a small circular black container against Ritsu’s cheek. Ritsu stared at it for a few silent, confused seconds before Teruki re-capped the thing and stowed it back in his bag. Teruki grabbed another black plastic circle, flicked it open with his thumb, and held it up to Ritsu’s cheek just the same.

“Not a medium-bronze or a bold peach, hmm? You may just be fair.”

Ritsu blinked. He watched Teruki drop the container back into his bag, same as the first, and rummage for a third.

The next one Teruki clicked open and held up against Ritsu’s cheek. Teruki flashed a smile and nodded. “Oh yeah, you’re definitely a fair.”

Ritsu took a step back, confused and wary. His eyes bounced between the offending black circle and Teruki. “What…the hell are you…?”

“What am I?” Teruki asked. He grabbed Ritsu’s right arm, pulled it out and twisted it palm-up to drop the black container in. He closed Ritsu’s fingers around it before reaching back into the bag and yanking out another identical bit of black plastic. Teruki uncapped it, and held it against his own cheek. The black thing held a chalky, powdery substance that shifted just slightly as it was brandished. “I’m a sunkissed beige, of course.”

Ritsu stared. And stared some more. The gears in his head turned. He looked down at the little uncapped thing in his palm.

“…Is that make up!?”

“Foundation.” Teruki dug a small, palm-sized brush from the bag. He shoved it into Ritsu’s hand as well before turning and rounding the corner. Ritsu heard the forced opening of a door—the small office for the gym teacher, probably—and the sound of careless rummaging. Teruki returned 30 seconds later with a large first aid kit, pilfered from the office. He set it against the left-most sink, unclasped the plastic locks, and opened it. Inside were a variety of small, sectioned-off compartments, some with their own clasps, others just partitioning bandages from antiseptic wipes from medical tape. Teruki grabbed the wipes and tore open the packaging. He grabbed the first from the pouch and started cleaning the raw skin around his neck with careful circular motions.

Teruki gestured to the packaging. “Antiseptic, then concealer, then foundation. Come on. You’ve got a lot more ground to cover than I do.”

Ritsu didn’t react right away. He stood in front of the middle sink and carefully set his foundation and brush down on its rim. There was something just a bit too surreal in what he was trying to process.

Teruki had lowered his wipe, stained a sickly yellow from the oily liquid that had been skinned from his neck. Teruki tested two fingers against his neck, checking to see that the welting was dry now, before retrieving a smaller, brush with firmer bristles, and an oblong black container differently-shaped from the foundations.

“Concealer,” Teruki said, holding up the oblong little plastic shell. He dabbed the brush against its surface, something a bit cakey and beige, and brushed it against his neck, chin tilted up, eyes consumed with the mirror.

Ritsu had seen this before, in movies, usually from America, when the catty girls gathered in the bathroom of a club and touched up their makeup. There was something vain, narcissistic, boastful in the tilt of Teruki’s chin, the indulgent glint of his eyes. Like the smoky-eyed rival girl, the cheerleading captain, out to steal the protagonist’s all-American football star boyfriend.

“Foundation goes on top. You can keep that brush, and the foundation. I’m only that shade when I’m at my palest—not a good look. I’d recommend getting more sun.”

Except this kid was brushing up against strangulation wounds. Near fatal. And Ritsu was expected to do the same with his scratched up and swelling cheeks, his bruised eye, his bludgeoned jaw. With stolen antiseptic wipes, and concealer, and fair foundation. Because he wasn’t pretty enough for sunkissed beige.

“And by the way, don’t take those spirits lightly. I know you’re an idiot, and inexperienced, and weak, but I’m not wasting my foundation on you to have you turn up dead a week later because you’ve had your whole psychic core purged out of your wrists.”

Then the boy took out a different brush, fluffier, and swirled it into the powder of his sunkissed beige foundation. He brushed it delicately to the skin along his neck, and it really was a flawless match for his skin color. Ritsu watched, mystified, as the angry red burst capillaries were glossed over, and the bruising vanished, and the distinct imprint of a necktie melted into a swath of blemish-free skin. His one attack, his one successful attack. Erased under sunkissed beige.

Ritsu blinked. Nothing felt real.

The boy was still talking, but the absurdity of it all had swamped Ritsu full-force. What…had happened.

What the hell had happened.

Gimp. And the spirits. And his energy sucked through his wrist. And this kid, showing up out of nowhere, challenging him, beating him within an inch of his life. Ritsu had almost died. He’d almost died. And this kid too—strangled. Ritsu had caught of glimpse of death, both himself and this boy, rain flooding his mouth and choking his throat while the sword pressed against his neck and—

Sunkissed Beige. Sunkissed Beige. When… had this turned into a lesson on makeup? Catty high school girls. In the locker room, cold and moldy and battered, dusting on makeup and gossiping about…spirits? Powers? The danger of—

--oh, oh he was still talking. Something about the spirits. Ritsu heard Gimcrack’s name, but it was too late to follow along. Ritsu’s eyes were drawn to the foundation brush still swirling around the boy’s neck. The moment was getting less and less real to Ritsu. The things being told to him were probably important. He needed to listen to… To listen to…

Oh…Ritsu had forgotten the kid’s name.

The Black Vinegar kid had introduced himself at the beginning of the fight, and then not again. It felt like an eternity ago. What had his name been? Something with a T…or an R…Or…

Sunkissed Beige kid was looking at him now, an eyebrow quirked, waiting on a response. Sunkissed Beige had stopped talking, and Ritsu hadn’t noticed.

“You understand that?” Sunkissed Beige asked, and Ritsu balked.

“Yes,” Ritsu muttered.

“Any questions?”

“Yes,” Ritsu said. He looked at the wipes, then the foundation on the sink, then the boy. His thoughts felt muddier than before, dizzier than before. Nothing was real. “…What was your name again?”

Sunkissed Beige stared at him, blankly, with an expression that seemed to suggest a much louder internal response behind his wide eyes. After a few seconds, Sunkissed Beige cleared his throat, and offered his hand.

“It’s… Teruki. Hanazawa. Just…Teru Hanazawa. That… Is my name.”

Ritsu took Teru’s hand, Teru’s fingers were scary-tense.

“And what is your name?” Teru asked.

“Ritsu Kageyama.”

Teru. Ritsu. Shigeo. Right. Right right right. This was happening. This was real. And Teru was still dangerous. Shock still clawed up Ritsu’s throat, threatened to swamp his brain and send him into a pain-stricken daze, but he couldn’t afford that yet. Teru was dangerous. Teru was dangerous. And Ritsu’s ability to keep searching hinged on whatever words passed between them now.

Ritsu took a deep, shuddering breath, one that rattled his aching ribs. He held it for a few seconds, then exhaled, letting his mind clear, forcing himself to focus once more.

“Don’t mumble,” Teru said. “What’s your name?”

“Ritsu Kageyama,” Ritsu answered more clearly, his enunciation careful.

“I don’t know the name,” Teru said, pointedly, as if trying to prove something. “Did you just awaken?”

“No.”

“When, then?”

“Three and a half years ago.”

Teru said nothing. He pushed the package of antiseptic wipes to Ritsu. “Why have I never heard of you?”

Ritsu drew a wipe from the package. “Because I don’t use my powers for stupid reasons.”

“Or ever. Just judging by ability.”

Ritsu shot a glare to Teru, one he hoped would mask his own discomfort. They both understood how wide the power gap was between them.

Ritsu wiped down his cheeks. The cloth burned like acid, raw flesh smarting under the sting of the alcohol-laden wipe. Ritsu took a small amount of pride in keeping the reaction off his face.

“Kageyama doesn’t sound familiar at all, in fact. Who was your psychic older brother?”

The voice was suddenly a few inches closer. Ritsu glanced to the left, and found Teru one arm’s length away, offering the concealer and brush he’d used. Ritsu set the wipe down on the sink, just a bit oily and pink, and took the concealer.

“His name is Shigeo Kageyama.”

“I don’t know that name either.” Teru watched Ritsu struggle to uncap the concealer, something judgmental in his silence. “The good news: that means Claw doesn’t have him. Unless he’s going by a different name now.”

“Claw?”

Teru paused, then let out a noise, something condescending, like a laugh truncated halfway. It made Ritsu’s cheeks burn with emotion, their new redness hidden beneath the scratching and swelling. It was a game, Ritsu figured, to make him feel like he knew nothing.

“You’re looking for a kidnapped child esper and you haven’t bothered to investigate Claw?” Teru’s eyes drank him in. Teru stood tall, proud, chin tilted up; the welting of his neck was barely even visible. “You’re adorable.”

“Who’s Claw?”

“An organization of espers who’re in the business of kidnapping other espers. They prefer to coerce rather than convince—new members are assimilated by force.” Teru investigated his nails. “But they don’t concern you. There’s no Shigeo Kageyama in their ranks.” He glanced up, a thin smile on his face. “Guess some predator in a van got your brother first. Or maybe he just fell into a river and never washed up. Always possible.”

Ritsu let out a single strangled noise. He shot a hand out, grabbing Teru by one side of his unbuttoned collar, as there was no tie to grab. Ritsu’s fingers brushed his neck.

“And how do you know these guys? How do you know who they’ve kidnapped? Are you with them? Are you out there kidnapping kids too?”

A single, firm motion of Teru’s arm shoved Ritsu off. Teru grabbed him roughly by the chin, and Ritsu couldn’t suppress the small pained grunt as Teru’s fingers dug into his bruised skin. Teru pulled him close, forcing eye-contact.

“I think this is the thing I hate most about you right now, Kageyama. You keep acting like you know things. You know nothing.”

Ritsu attempted to pull himself free. Teru’s grip only tightened, and pained tears threatened to well up in Ritsu’s eyes again as Teru’s fingers pinched his black and blue jaw.

“Then tell me. I need information. The spirits were my only source and you exorcised half of them!”

Teru made the same noise as before, the same barking taunt. It made Ritsu’s cheeks burn anew with shame. The concealer was taken from his palm, brush as well. Teru unclasped it one-handed, then released Ritsu just long enough to dab the brush into the cakey makeup. Teru took Ritsu’s chin back, now with the opposite hand still holding the concealer, and began to brush over the darkest areas of Ritsu’s bruising.

“You really were a dead man, huh? Maybe I should have killed you anyway. At least then I’d have the satisfaction of knowing your death contributed nothing to those filthy parasites.”

“You use them too,” Ritsu countered weakly. The sensation made him shiver in discomfort, forced so close to Teru, his face roughly painted in all the spots that stung the most.

“Yes, but not stupidly.” Teru would not return Ritsu’s eye-contact. His attention remained fixed on the parts of Ritsu’s skin he attended to.

“What do you use them for then?”

Teru offered no reply. He capped the concealer and set it on his sink. He took the foundation from Ritsu’s sink, the fluffier brush as well, and worked to overlay the concealer. This brush was softer, more feather-like, the foundation a light powder rather than something damp and cakey.

“Because as far as I can tell, Hanazawa, you’re just using them to be an asshole.” Ritsu tilted his chin down, trying to force eye-contact once more, but to no avail. Teru’s expression was unreadable, bored even, consumed in his task. The look made Ritsu uncomfortable—he felt exposed, every discerning flash of Teru’s eyes investigating and attending to another spot of blemished skin. And yet, he felt as though he scarcely existed at all in Teru’s world.

Ritsu swallowed, and he tried again. “So are you going to stop me?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m still going to use my spirit horde to find him.”

“You mean what’s left of them.”

“I’ll get more.”

“That’s dangerous. Weren’t you listening to me before?”

Silence set between them. Teru swirled the brush in the foundation shell. He reached toward Ritsu’s cheek again, but Ritsu grabbed his wrist, firm. “I don’t get this.”

Teru tugged lightly. “What?”

“This.” Ritsu tensed his hand on Teru’s wrist, his eyes shooting to the makeup brush. “Why are you covering up my wounds?”

“Your parents are the controlling type, aren’t they? Gimcrack seemed to think so.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Ritsu pushed Teru off. He twisted to face the mirror above the sink, drinking in his muted, desaturated reflection in the dim lighting. Half his face was still blackened and yellowed beneath a layer of chalky, cakey makeup. The other half was almost flush with his skin tone. Still swollen, still unnatural, like clay almost, but…passable. At a glance, would he guess the mottled hideous mess beneath…?

Ritsu fixed his eyes back on Teru. “I mean, you beat me. I was your opponent. Why do you care how I look? So what if I had gone home to my parents like I was…?” He glanced to the brush, still clasped between Teru’s thumb and middle finger. Then he locked eyes again with Teru. “What do you want to talk about? What do you want with me?”

Teru said nothing at first. His eyes darted back and forth between Ritsu’s, unblinking. Then he shrugged. “You’re the only other esper in Seasoning City, as far as I know. I’ve been bored.” He looked Ritsu over again, grimaced, and closed the gap between them. He set the brush back to Ritsu’s temple. “Well, you’re still boring. You hardly qualify as an esper.”

Ritsu gritted his teeth. He resisted the urge to say anything.

Teru continued. “Your brother though. How did he disappear?”

Ritsu swallowed; he forced down the uncomfortable leap of his stomach. “He had a psychic mentor. He went to the park with him after school one day and never came home.”

“Mentor?”

“He called him Mogami.”

“I don’t know any psychics by that name.”

Ritsu nodded, slowly. He hadn’t expected much else. He knew by now it was a false name. “Gimp didn’t know it either.”

“Don’t trust Gimp—Gimcrack—on names. Spirits don’t have the same concept of names as we do. Among themselves, they identify each other by aura. If you want to stand any chance of possessing authority over them, I suggest you learn to do the same.” Teru eased back with the brush. He investigated Ritsu’s face and capped the foundation. “In fact, don’t trust Gimcrack at all. Or any of the spirits. They’ll betray you. Fear is your best weapon over them.”

“…So I can continue?” Ritsu asked, tense. He glanced to the mirror again. Now both sides of his face sported the same ghostly, artificial recreation of his skin tone. “The search? The spirits…?”

“You really think you’ll get anywhere with them?”

“I’ll get further than I would without them,” Ritsu answered, tense, deathly serious.

Teru stared, silent, then pushed the foundation into Ritsu’s hand. “Keep this, really. And learn how to apply it. Your wrists are going to start bruising.”

“So that’s a yes?”

“If you want to rush headfirst into death, then who am I to stop you? Go find Gimcrack. He’s outside, waiting to see which one of us won.” Teru hoisted his bag onto his shoulder, his appraising eyes more bothered than before. “And I recommend stealing another uniform from one of these lockers. You’re not going to fool anyone wearing tattered clothes like that.”

“I have gym clothes in this locker room,” Ritsu answered, almost without thinking.

Teru shrugged, and he twisted on his heel toward the door. “All the same.”

“Wait.” Ritsu thrust a hand out, and Teru paused.

Ritsu hesitated. He studied Teru’s back, considered every ounce of hatred he possessed for the kid and swallowed it down. He closed his fist around the foundation shell in his hand and pushed away from the sink, his reflection no longer visible. “’I’m not wasting my foundation on you to have you turn up dead a week later.’ That’s…You just said that. And this fight ended because for whatever reason you don’t actually want me dead. You don’t want me dead and you don’t want my parents stopping me either, so doesn’t that mean you want me to keep looking for him?” Ritsu took a step forward. “You stopped when I mentioned Niisan. For whatever reason you’re interested in meeting him, aren’t you?”

Teru didn’t turn. “That didn’t stop me. I already knew about your brother. Gimcrack told me.”

“…You stopped when I mentioned he was your age.” Ritsu hesitated. He raised his fingers to his cheek, rubbing gently against the cakey unnatural surface, hot and stinging beneath. “Psychics getting kidnapped. Kid psychics, specifically, being taken. And something about Claw. It means something to you, doesn’t it? You know something else and you haven’t told me.”

Teru tilted his head, glancing at Ritsu just over his shoulder. “I know nothing about your psychic brother or where he might be.”

Ritsu breathed in deep. His ribs ached, shifting like pockets of fire had burst between them. Standing this long had made him light-headed, and every shift of his arms and legs still sent electric jolts of pain through his spine. Even just staying composed was draining more energy than he had to offer.

And it was Teru’s fault. Every last ounce of it. Ritsu would be glad to see him leave and never return. To curse his name at every horrible pang through his battered body. To hope he would live a horrible, miserable, boring existence for the rest of his horrible miserable life.

But Teru was strong. And Teru was experienced. And Teru possessed information Ritsu would likely never come across again.

“I…don’t know where he is either,” Ritsu answered, cold, measured. “You’re right. I don’t know what I’m doing on my own. I don’t know how to use my powers. I don’t know what the spirits are doing to me. I don’t know anything except that I have to do something.” Ritsu moved forward, unwavering despite the cascade of pain that shot out every time his knee straightened. Teru turned fully to face him now. “So if you’re…bored. If you have any interest in meeting my brother. Then why not help me?”

With effort, Ritsu raised his right hand. He held it, palm out, to Teru.

Teru was right; his wrists were bruising.

“Help me find him.”

#A Breach of Trust #: 'D #-thumbs-up gestures and such-

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batsort93-blog · 6 years ago

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15 MS symptoms that women should never, ever ignore

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UP NEXT

(video courtesy TODAY)

At first, Selma Blair thought she was just suffering from a pinched nerve-it wasn't until she fell in front of her doctor that she was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis.

However, Blair 46, thinks she's had the disease for much longer. "I have probably had this incurable disease for 15 years at least," she wrote in a recent Instagram post.

Real quick: What is multiple sclerosis again?

Multiple sclerosis (MS) is a disease of the central nervous system, which affects the brain and spinal cord. MS basically blocks the messages that flow between the brain and the body, often resulting in vision problems, muscle weakness, coordination issues, numbness, and thinking or memory problems, according to the National Institutes of Health.

Selma is just one 2.3 million people worldwide who suffer from MS, according to the National Multiple Sclerosis Society. There's no cure for the disease, though treatments can slow or delay the progression of symptoms.

While 15 years seems like a long time to go undiagnosed, it's entirely possible-that's because MS symptoms can be hard to nail down. "A lot of the symptoms are kind of non-specific," says Jonathan Howard, M.D., a neurologist at NYU Langone's Multiple Sclerosis Comprehensive Care Center-that means many symptoms aren't only seen in MS patients.

In fact, it's not uncommon for doctors to misdiagnose patients, ultimately delaying their treatment, says Amit Sachdev, M.D., an assistant professor and director of the Division of Neuromuscular Medicine at Michigan State University.

If you're experiencing any of these concerning multiple sclerosis symptoms , check in with your doctor to figure out what's up. (But don't go into defcon-5 just yet; many other health issues could be to blame.)

1. Your foot keeps falling asleep.

Normally, you only get that prickly pins-and-needles feeling when you've put pressure on your leg for too long, temporarily cutting off blood flow. But if you find that your arms, legs, hands, or feet feel numb, burning, or tingly out of nowhere, that can be a sign of MS, Segil says.

2. You're tired, like, all the time.

You’re inevitably going to come across those days when you just can’t even. But sudden spells of severe exhaustion that last for weeks and mess with your ability to function normally on a day-to-day basis might be an indication that MS is destroying the nerves in your spinal column.

“People with MS describe their fatigue as overwhelming, making even simple tasks difficult,” says Costello. “It is often out of proportion with your activity, is not relieved by sleep, and is worsened if you become overheated.”

3. You stop getting your period.

Any illness that affects your immune system, including multiple sclerosis, may cause amenorrhea, or the loss of your period, says Segil. Missing a period every so often is not a big deal-everything from stress to traveling to the flu can temporarily throw your reproductive system out of sync-but if your period is gone for more than three months in a row or your cycle becomes erratic, it's time to talk to a doctor.

4. You have trouble swallowing or speaking sometimes.

Issues with speech and swallowing typically go hand-in-hand (their medical names are actually dysphagia and dysarthrias), per the National MS Society.

As far as speech goes, damaged areas of the brain can affect speech patterns, causing slurring or a more nasal sound to your voice.

Your brain is also largely in control of swallowing (tbh, your brain is in control of pretty much everything)-and yeah, not being able to swallow properly should definitely raise a red flag.

5. You've been especially clumsy lately.

"People often think they just have bad balance but having weakness in one or both of your limbs could be a sign that something is wrong with your motor nerves," Segil says. So if you find yourself tripping, stumbling, feeling unsteady, or falling frequently for no reason, get to a doctor ASAP.

6. You're having trouble multitasking, or you've been really moody.

About 60 percent or more of those diagnosed with MS experience some form of cognitive or emotional distress, according to Kathleen Costello, a nurse practitioner and associate vice president of healthcare access at the National Multiple Sclerosis Society.

Those with MS can suffer from impaired recall, difficulty with depression, irritability, sudden mood swings, and uncontrollable fits of crying or laughter.

7. You're feeling some pretty weird sensations.

Sensory issues are a strange but common sign of multiple sclerosis. "My patients often say that their body just feels different, on a sensory level, from one part to the next," Segil explains. "For example, when they put on their shirt, it feels differently sliding over their chest than it does going over their stomach."

Half of people diagnosed with MS also have chronic pain, which is usually coupled with involuntary spasms, inexplicable weakness, or stiffness in the muscles. “It is often described as heaviness or like the limb is worn out,” says Costello. The legs are usually the first extremity to bear the brunt of the muscular woes, but the back is also a typical problem area.

8. You can't distinguish between colors anymore.

If you previously had a good eye for color, don't brush this off, Segil says. "It's called optic neuritis and it happens because of a loss of insulation around the optic nerves in the brain; it's one of the primary symptoms of multiple sclerosis," he explains.

But it's not just color-related: MS can also manifest as partial blindness, color blindness, blind spots, or blindness only in one eye. “Some people describe this as looking through a smudged contact lens, or looking through a screen or through water,” says Costello. “It may also be associated with pain or a pulling sensation during eye movement."

The onset of MS-related vision problems is usually slow, since the deterioration of the eyes happens over time. Optic neuritis can also happen on its own-without necessarily being associated with multiple sclerosis-as a result of an infection, a vitamin deficiency, or other autoimmune diseases.

9. You're forgetting everything.

If you've forgotten your bestie's birthday, lost your keys five times in one week, and rewashed the same clean laundry twice, you might worry you have early-onset Alzheimer's disease.

The good news is that Alzheimer's is extremely rare in young women. The bad news is that problems with short-term memory or other cognitive issues can be MS symptoms in women.

10. You're always drinking water, but you rarely have to pee.

Being able to hydrate all day without visiting the ladies room may seem like an awesome talent, but it's not a good thing. It's a hallmark of multiple sclerosis, especially if you're stopped up for more than 24 hours, Segil says.

However, any big change in urinary frequency can be an MS symptom in women, and is often how people end up getting diagnosed, he adds. Sometimes it's the opposite, and you have to pee all the time.

“Many people with MS report a sense of ‘gotta-go’ bladder urgency or may need to use the restroom more frequently,” says Costello. “Sometimes they are even awakened during the night by the urge to urinate.” Dysfunctional bathroom habits occur in about 80 percent of people with MS, and the inability to hold in your pee is often accompanied by constipation, diarrhea, and uncontrollable bowel movements as well.

11. You randomly get dizzy or nauseated.

One of the earliest MS symptoms in women is extreme dizziness or vertigo caused by nerve damage that messes with your motor, sensory, and coordination systems, making you feel disoriented, unsteady, dizzy, or even nauseated.

12. You're having trouble texting or typing.

"One of the first things we often see in MS patients is the inability to text, type, use a cellphone or tablet, or do other things that require fine motor control," Segil says. As multiple sclerosis advances, it can cause "lesions," or areas of damage on your nervous system. If you get a lesion on the back region of the brain, it can hurt your manual dexterity, he explains.

13. You're having trouble getting aroused.

Sexual arousal starts in the central nervous system-so your brain actually has to send messages to your sexual organs to get them revved up. But in MS, since the brain-body connection isn't working properly, your body might not get the memo that you're ready for action, according to the National MS Society.

Sexual problems are actually pretty common among women with MS-as many as 72 percent of female patients are affected by sexual issues including reduced sensation in the vaginal or clitoral area (or painfully heightened sensations), along with vaginal dryness.

14. You can't tell if something's hot or cold.

An inability to sense temperature changes with your hands is another symptom of MS-induced nerve damage, Segil says.

15. You've tested negative for every other disease, but you still feel ill.

"Multiple sclerosis is considered one of the 'great masqueraders', along with lupus, because its symptoms are so easily attributed to other causes or illnesses," Segil says. "Because the symptoms depend entirely on which nerves are affected, no two patients will present the same."

For many women, this means that they only get an accurate diagnosis of MS after their doctors have ruled everything else out. Fortunately, an MRI scan can spot the telltale "lesions" of the disease, so don't be afraid to ask about getting tested for it, he adds.

Source: https://www.msn.com/en-us/health/medical/15-ms-symptoms-that-women-should-never-ever-ignore/ar-BBOLHr0?srcref=rss

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shockcity · 8 years ago

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DD #10 - hearts and other stolen things

Rating: M

Summary: AU - Matthew Murdock is a self-serving criminal with no time for love. But this Foggy fellow sure is persistent….

Category: M/M

Pairing: Foggy Nelson/Matt Murdock

Warnings: Deadpool

Note: I actually don’t often ship Foggy/Matt, as my OTP is Fratt, but I have a thing for cuddly dom!Foggy, so there’s that.

Oooh. Poetry.

__________________________

Deadpool had about five minutes before Matt packed up his shit and went home. It was starting to snow; his senses didn’t work so well in this weather, his fingers were frozen, and his socks were wet.

His socks were wet.

“Honey! I’m home!” Wade called, finally clambering onto Matt’s roof. “~I can’t feel my face! Baby it’s cold outside. Let’s go back to your place…sooo we can fuuuuck~”

“That’s not how the song goes,” Matt said, irritated. “I’ve been here for an hour. We said one, Wade.”

“Nuh-uh. Three! I’m totally early.”

He was not early. He was dumb, and Matt was cold and his socks were wet.

“Can we please just get this over with?” he snapped. “Your being here at all is a professional courtesy. Your man is there,” Matt pointed to the fourth floor. “My diamond is there.” He pointed to the fifth. “Got it?”

“Capisce compadre.” Wade saluted, but didn’t move from the roof. “I’m just curious though, what do you need a three million dollar diamond for?”

More socks, Matt thought, these are wet.

“I’m starting a charity for disadvantaged blind orphans with abandonment issues,” he confessed. “Then I’m giving the rest to the church.”

Deadpool laughed. “Sure. I should have asked, ‘hmm, how many pairs of silk sheets can you get with three mill?’”

Perching on the edge of the building, Matt tested the cable before buckling himself in.

“So many,” he answered, and then slid down onto the roof of the bank.

“Nice ass!” Wade yelled after him.

_________________________

Daredevil strikes again! Georgian Diamond stolen from Max Security Vault! said the Bulletin headline.

“DD strikes back. DD, a new hope. Return of the DD. The Phantom D–”

Matt hung up on him.

A few seconds later, Wade called back. “Is this Ghengis Connie’s? How is your dim sum on a scale of one to ten?”

Matt hung up.

“Idiot, Idiot, Idiot,” said Matt’s phone.

He did not answer; instead, he drank his very good organic coffee and wiggled his vicuna wool covered toes with quiet satisfaction.

“Idiot using Weasel’s phone, Idiot using Weasel’s phone, idiot using Weasel’s phone.”

Matt sighed.

“Unknown number, probably Wade, unknown number, probably Wade – I don’t know why I get up in the morning,” he said when he finally answered. “Stop calling me. And stop calling me Daredevil.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal. But I’ll never lose your number, Rikki. What are you wearing?”

Matt hung up.

_________________________

They met on a heist.

Both people. Both times.

Matt would never ever admit to why he tolerated Deadpool’s crap, and he and Foggy were still really new, but Matt could reasonably say that two of the most prevalent people in his life were introduced to him while shit went down. Attachments were often made in times of strife, after all.

One introduction occurred during a high stakes B&E at S.H.I.E.L.D. Accounting HQ (don’t ask), and the other was at the law offices of Hogarth, Chao, and Benowitz. Matt was stealing sensitive paperwork both times.

Deadpool was attempting to reconfigure someone’s face while arguing about the merits of fish tacos v carne asada (Matt has never asked for an explanation, because Matt gives a fuck only sometimes and this was not one of those times), and the whole one-sided debate/torture session was being held right on top of the file cabinet that Matt needed to break into.

It was very inconvenient.

Punches were thrown, acrobatics done, and some of Deadpool’s limbs were lost. Even though Matt left him doing a black knight “just a flesh wound” impression, Deadpool decided to seek out Matt later anyway. Apparently they were now “best friends for freaking ever and ever,” and “they still make those halfsy heart necklaces, I’ll get us one, omg!!1!”

There was over a year of suffering Wade’s…Wadeness, before the second most important person in Matt’s life walked in on him shuffling through Jeryn Hogarth’s personal file cabinet at 3 am.

Seriously with the file cabinets.

“Um, are you… stealing…stuff?” said Foggy, and then he took a deep breath. “Do you need legal representation?”

Matt considered this. “Probably,” he decided. “But that depends on my getting caught.”

Foggy nodded sagely. “True that,” he said. “I doubt I could out-ninja you, if you are, in fact, the dude I think you are…so, I’ll go call the cops and you can just skedaddle while I hope for the sake of my career that you’ve not taken anything too important.”

“Hogarth has evidence that one of your clients is guilty of embezzlement. This is that evidence,” Matt told him, waving the folder around. “So no, your ass isn’t on the line.” He thought for a moment. “Unless I decide to get rid of the witness.”

“Sure ok,” Foggy scoffed, taking out his phone and thumbing through it. He punched in 911 (presumably) and held it up for Matt to see (which he couldn’t). “Calling them now, so…catch you on the flipside.”

Matt made it four blocks away by the time the cops caught up, and by then he had replaced thoughts of the heist with thoughts of Foggy. Matt was fascinated, and oddly charmed by this man, and some part of his brain must have come loose or there was a gas leak in his apartment or something, because he found himself calling Wade to talk about it.

“He sounds amazing,” Wade said, groaning into the phone. “Is he hot? Are you gonna hook up? I think I’m jealous.”

“I don’t know what he looks like because I can’t see,” Matt reminded him politely, and Wade groaned again. “But he smells nice.”

“Are you going to see him again?”

“I can’t see him at all, because I’m blind.”

Wade hung up on him.

“Idiot, idiot, idiot,” Matt’s phone announced thirty seconds later.

“Just promise me one thing,” announced Wade, sounding melancholy. “Bros before hoes, Matty. Bros. Before. Hoes.”

Matt promised reluctantly, even though he had no intention whatsoever of ever crossing paths with Foggy again.

But fate had another plan, of course.

…and also Foggy and Matt’s romance is really quite a lovely story, and honestly, there’s only so much Deadpool readers can take.

_________________________

“Oh good! I caught you.”

Matt wasn’t sure how exactly Foggy Nelson had figured out where his local bodega was. He wasn’t sure how Foggy knew who he was even, because he was in Matt-clothes, not Daredevil cat-suit clothes.

And he’d just called himself Daredevil. Fucking Wade.

But more pressing things were at hand, like this getting caught business.

“What?”

Foggy seemed to realize what he’d said, based on his nervous shuffling. “Uh, not in the ‘apprehending a suspect’ sense, but in a, I need some friendly advice sense.”

Matt put down the fruit he’d been inspecting, and turned to face Foggy directly. There was an intake of breath.

“That’s…a cane. How did I miss the cane? Wow. Uh. Cane.”

“How did you know who I was?” Matt asked, crossing his arms. “And give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just kill you?”

He wondered if Foggy had thought any of this through, but then he didn’t seem all that nervous at the mention of killing things. Huh.

“Because you don’t kill people?” Huh. “And you feel like paying me back for doing you a solid that one time?”

Matt suddenly blushed, feeling like an asshole. He did owe Foggy, and he felt bad that Foggy had had to call on that debt to get Matt to help him. Matt wasn’t…a bad person, per se. Self-serving, yes. Compulsive liar and thief, absolutely. Unwilling to help his fellow man (especially when appealed to directly)? Of course not. He was human. He had human…emotions. Empathy. Compassion.

Stick hadn’t completely fucked him up, after all.

You’re a hot mess, baby, his internal Wade-voice said. What you need is some dick, offer him an afternoon siesta–

Shut up, Wade.

“Sorry, Nelson. Of course I’ll help.” Matt mumbled, frowning in the direction of his shoes. “I’m not a complete ass.”

“Ookay… never said you were. So, here’s the thing: someone broke into my apartment but they didn’t steal anything, man, they left something. In your expert opinion does this smack of crazy or clever manipulation? Or both?”

“What did they leave?”

“A hoe.”

Matt blinked. “Excuse me?”

“A hoe. Uh. Like the farm tool…thing. The raking. Of the crops. I don’t know I’m from Hell’s Kitchen.”

“A hoe,” he parroted in disbelief.

Foggy was smiling nervously, he could hear it, and Matt might have smiled back had he not realized exactly what (or whom) he was dealing with.

“Deadpool,” Matt hissed.

———-

“I’m just trying to get you out there.” Wade dodged a kick to the face. “It’s been two years, Matty! I’m surprised little Matt hasn’t just fallen off…just, detached and run off to find someone that actually appreciates him for who he is– ”

Matt socked him in the stomach. “Oof!” said Wade. “OK time-out. Time-out. That actually hurt kinda.”

Despite being angry at him, Matt did pull away, his hands on Deadpool’s shoulders. “You need to stop,” he told his friend. “Nelson could have gone to the police with your note.”

He hadn’t been able to appreciate Wade’s drawing of Foggy in a giant dick costume (“it’s very très chic,” Foggy had said) but the addition of the address for Matt’s local grocery and what time he usually dropped by was absolutely not something he appreciated at all.

“Oh, come on.” Wade threw his hands in the air as Matt stomped around his kitchen. “He never would have gone to the po po. He’s the most innocent butterscotch donut there ever was. The worst he’s probably ever done to anyone is ask if they were really blind. And those were special circumstances! And his hair is golden and glossy. He wears cute suits. He’s really come along way from She’s All That!”

“Wade, enough.”

Wade sunk into a sullen silence, which, getting him to actually shut up for even a short period of time was sort of a superpower of Matt’s. Everyone said so. And usually this was where he sighed and told Wade to stop pouting and then forgave him, but Matt was serious this time.

“You could have really screwed up here, you know. Nice guy or not, Foggy Nelson knowing my secret identity isn’t necessarily a good thing. Now he’s…involved. My enemies could come after him.”

“Spider-man hasn’t tried to arrest you in months– ”

“They could use him to hurt me. If I’m being honest, that’s what I’m most afraid of, Wade. Of people I care for being caught in the crossfire.”

“Oh my goooooooooood,” Wade exclaimed, skipping over to Matt and grabbing him into an uncomfortable hug. “You’re still scarred about that one time with the Punisher! Awwwww, Matty. You knew I’d be fine! I’m sorry you got splattered with my brains– ”

“You’re sorry?”

“ –and for making you choose between your boyfriend and me. But that was my fault, not yours. I was on Castle’s radar a long time before he started doing the do with you. Which sounded pretty hot, gotta say. Oh, and I heard you that one time.”

“Ugh.”

“You’re kinda loud.”

“Just…” Matt sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Just let me handle it, okay?”

“You got it, DD. Consider me persona non grata! El out of it-o. Worry not about anymore interference from me, my good sir. I leave thee to thy contemplations of eternal celibacy. Foggy Nelson is never gonna hear from me again! You have my word.”

_________________________

“Hi,” Wade said into Foggy’s ear, who nearly jumped out of his seat in surprise. “Sooooo? What’d you think? He’s hot, right?”

“I, um– ”

“Ooh, breakfast burritos!” He purloined Foggy’s meal, sitting across from him at the little cafe table. People stared. Wade knew it was because he was super handsome and famous. “I notice you didn’t ask him out.”

Foggy shrugged awkwardly. “Well, he was pretty annoyed, so I figured it wasn’t the best time to suggest dinner.”

Wade shoved the half-eaten burrito in his pocket. “I see,” he nodded. “Oh, and speaking of seeing, how do you feel about the blind thing? Because let me tell you, it took some getting used to– ”

“Um.”

“ –but then Matt explained this thing called ableism to me, and wow was that an eye-opener. Pun totally intended. So if you’ve got a problem with blind people I completely understand, but also you’re probably gonna meet Mean Deadpool instead of Nice Deadpool. The Mean one kills people. Wait. So does the Nice one. Just don’t hate blind people, OK?”

Foggy let him finish, a cute little wrinkle in between his eyes. “I’m not ableist,” he replied, slowly. “I have no problem with the differently abled. Please don’t kill me. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Now, Matt is a very handsome duck, yes,” he admitted. “Like really handsome. And I’m interested. Very interested.”

Wade leaned forward excitedly. “It’s the hair isn’t it? I mean Charlie Cox is hot as fuck, but Comics!Matt has always been my secret man-crush. I’m thinking this particular fanfic features more of a Mixed Matt, like, Charlie’s adorbs face but with ginger tresses, and of course he’s got that ass in any medium. Because, like, that ass.”

Foggy held up a hand. “Dude, I’m trying to ask for Matt’s number.”

Deadpool pulled out his phone, which was covered in smooshed breakfast burrito. “Dude, why didn’t you just say so? Why do people insist on writing pages filled with useless dialogue? I’m not even that funny.”

________________________

“Unknown number, probably Wade, unknown number, probably Wade– did you pick up my dry cleaning again? I’ve told you hundred times to leave those people alone– ”

“Uh. That sounds like a story.”

Matt blinked. He blinked again. “How did you get this number?”

He could hear Foggy Nelson’s heartbeat speed up over the phone (Wade was fond of testing Matt’s abilities this way, usually with his hand down his pants, which was why Matt kept the length of their phone conversations to thirty seconds or less) and waited for an explanation that didn’t include the words 'dead’ or 'pool’. Alas, Matt was unlucky in life.

“I don’t know why I believed him when he said he would drop this,” Matt grumbled, leaning against his sink. “Listen, Nelson, it’s not that I don’t like you– ”

“No, it’s okay,” Foggy reassured him, though he sounded disappointed. “I get it, and I’m sorry I’m bothering you.”

“You’re not!” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “You’re not bothering me. I’m just not dating right now.”

“Bad break up, huh?”

Matt laughed humorlessly. “The worst.”

“Yeah, I lost a real spitfire a couple years ago to corporate law, and then wham! I’m suddenly working for HCB and there goes my high horse. She’s made it her goal in life to destroy me in court every chance she gets. Of which there are now many.”

“Why did you go to work for Hogarth?”

“Turns out owning your own practice is a total bummer. Thank you casseroles from endless pro bono clients are not accepted in lieu of rent money. Who knew.”

Matt smiled despite himself. “Not even enchilada casserole?”

“Not even that.”

There was a comfortable silence, and then Matt took a breath and said, “you know I was going to be a lawyer?”

“No way, Jose!”

He laughed. “Really. I was.”

Foggy laughed too. “How on earth did that go so sideways?”

So Matt told him, and Foggy listened and made all the right jokes and didn’t judge and generally charmed the pants off of him. They talked about law, then breaking the law (as you do), then Wade, then Wade’s hygiene (as you do), and then moved on to old movies, vinyl records, the best place for cannoli, that One Time Tony Stark Crashed Into a Strip Club, and the current health care bill that everyone but Wade was concerned about.

“We should have dinner,” Matt found himself saying during a slight pause in their banter. “I mean yes. I’m saying yes.”

“To dinner? As in, a dinner date?” Foggy sounded hopeful.

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “We should do that.”

“Okay.”

They set a time and place; both a bit breathless with excitement. When Matt hung up, he checked the time. It had been 2 hours and 36 minutes since he’d accepted the call. He had talked to Foggy Nelson for 2 hours, and 36 minutes.

When’s the wedding? His inner Wade-voice said.

Matt scoffed and ignored it, but he had a small smile on his face for the rest of the night.

_________________________

His socks were wet again, but this time it had nothing to do with snow. This time it was the Hudson; which Matt had decided to take a dip into (no, not decided, he’d been pushed. Pushed).

“You are dead!” He yelled, water-logged and spitting mad. “Dead!”

Wade only laughed and laughed.

“Um, thanks for the help,” Spider-man said, somewhat dubiously. Behind him, a large Godzilla-looking green reptile lay dead and still partially on fire.

“I wasn’t helping!” Matt growled, boots squelching as he dragged his sore body away from the boardwalk. “I’m a villain, remember?”

“Right.” Spider-man didn’t sound so sure. “You know, Daredevil, I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

“You sure did,” Wade nodded, slapping Matt on the back of his wet catsuit. Ugh. “He’s not a villain at all! Self-serving? Yeah. Kind of a dick? Sure. But sinister enough for Spidey’s rogues gallery? Nah…wait. Isn’t Stilt-man in there somewhere? I take it all back.“

“I’m not a hero,” Matt hissed.

“Your boyfriend thinks you are! OMG Spidey it’s so cute, he’s dating the embodiment of summer sunshine, Raffi, and kittens playing in little boxes.”

Wade went on to tell the entire story of MattnFoggy, and Spider-man thought it was all very lovely, of course.

“That’s so sweet, DD,” he gushed like a High Schooler. “And now I’m 100% sure you’re just misunderstood.”

“110!” Wade crowed.

“110,” Spider-man nodded.

Later, Matt and Wade trooped back to Matt’s apartment; one exhausted and pensive, while the other remained as hyper and cacophonous as always. Wade was ecstatic about making a new friend, and was going on and on about “Team Red”, but Matt was too distracted to listen.

“Wade,” he said, cutting off his endless stream of nonsense. “Do you think…do you ever wonder about going straight?”

Wade gasped. “Honey, no.”

“I’m serious,” said Matt. “I’m just– I’m just worried for Foggy. I want to be good for him.”

“Listen.” Wade reached out and took Matt by the shoulders, shaking him a little. “You already are good. You’re great. Kellogg’s Frosted Flakes great. So what if you steal stuff? You’re not hurting anybody!”

“Rich people,” Matt pointed out.

“No one cares about the 1%, coal miners, or crybaby white people. You’re a freedom fighter! An enemy of fascist America! I’m proud of you, Matt. And so is Foggy, because that’s who this is really about.”

Which was true. This was about Foggy, and it was becoming a serious hang-up that was threatening the very fabric of their relationship. Something needed to be done, so Matt gathered his courage that night and asked Foggy if he really knew what he was getting into.

“You do know that I’m a villain, right?” He said cautiously. “I’ve been arrested by the Avengers and everything.”

For the first time, Matt was feeling somewhat ashamed of this, rather than just indifferent or irritated.

“Psh,” Foggy replied, holding Matt’s hand. They were intertwined on Matt’s couch, which seemed to be their habit these days. “Who needs those guys? Not me. Plus I like you just the way you are, and I know it’s cheesy, but you’ve stolen my heart.”

Matt smiled shyly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Foggy leaned in and kissed the top of his head and squeezed his shoulders. Matt melted. “But you know what, Matty? I don’t think you’re a bad person at all. I think you’re great, and it doesn’t really matter that you steal stuff, unless you’re caught and go to prison, which would suck. But even then I would stick by you. I’d be your legal representation.”

“That’s practically a proposal.” He grinned and sat up and stared in the general direction of his boyfriend. He felt warm and cared for, and the pure, overwhelming affection he had for this man prompted him to say, “Foggy Nelson, will you be my legal representation?”

“I will.” Foggy’s heart didn’t lie. “Forever and always.”

And Matt practically threw himself at Foggy, hugging him tight. “You know what, Foggy?” said Matt, kissing his cheek. “You’re the best thing I ever stole.”

#DD fic #daredevil fic #dd10 #foggymatt #deadpool shenanigans #and Peter who seems to randomly show up in like all my dd fics

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dubsism · 4 years ago

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Today’s Movie: Breakfast at Tiffany’s

Year of Release: 1961

Stars: Audrey Hepburn, George Peppard, Patricia Neal

Director: Blake Edwards

This movie is not on my list of essential films.

NOTE: This installment of Movies Everybody Loves That I Hate is being done strictly of my own behest. It isn’t part of a blog-athon, it isn’t part of MovieRob’s Genre Grandeur franchise, it’s just yours truly having a good, old-fashioned rant. In other words, there’s nobody else to blame; if you don’t like what you see here, there’s nowhere else to address your hate mail. All the contact information you need is in the footer of this post, so fire away.

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Now that you know the genesis of this post, here’s why I would rather “French” kiss a light socket than sit through this movie again.

1) Mickey Rooney’s “Mr. Yunioshi”

I know right now there’s a big thing about actors playing characters that are not of their ethnicity. In all honesty, I don’t give a damn about that. I’ve long been on record about the silliness behind of holding old movies to today’s standards. But, holy shit…this is an awful character.

First of all, the make-up doesn’t even make Rooney look Japanese; it makes him look like he has Down’s Syndrome. But that’s not all which is completely retarded here. In my installment in this series about “South Pathetic Pacific,” I said that craptacular found a way to make racism even dumber. But Mickey Rooney’s character in this movie is so dumb it’s beyond the stupidity of racism.

If you want to get hung up on that angle, be my guest; doing so misses the real problem. Simply stated, the problem isn’t the ridiculous “Asian stereotype” bullshit…the problem is why does this character exist like this at all? Think about it. There’s no reason for this character to be Asian, and even if you just wanted to make him Asian, and even if you had it played by an Asian, there’s still no reason for it to be so over-the-top stereotypical. It’s just the laziest excuse ever for “comic relief” ever.

But if you really want a character to go full “Krusty the Klown ‘Flapping Dickey,'” why not have Mickey Rooney do this shit in “It’s A Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World?” Just imagine the “Airplane” scene with Buddy Hackett while Rooney is playing off the whole “Asians can’t drive” thing while he’s trying to fly the plane.

I mean…if you’re going to be brain-numbingly stupid, at least be funny, at least have the common courtesy to be funny.

2) Where There’s Smoke…

I completely understand the attitude towards cigarettes was very different lo those many decades ago. But, is it just me or does this movie have far more than its fair share of pounding the butts? In order to see more smoke than this movie contains, you would need to be in a ranger station in the middle of Yosemite during the brush fire season.

3) The Only Reason Anybody Cares About This Movie

It certainly isn’t because it’s a cinematic masterpiece. This all comes down to a clique of classic cinema fans who find a borderline-anorexic as some sort of fashion plate; those people have same sort of fetish for Holly Golightly. In all fairness, what I know about fashion could fit in a thimble and there would still be plenty of room left for one of my enormous fingers, but here’s what I do know…

4) Holly Golightly is a Twat and a Fraud

There…I said it. Let’s cut through the crap here; I have no idea why anybody would admire anything about this train-wreck of a human being. She’s shallow and superficial, super annoying, and quite possibly has a screw loose. Let me take the level of honesty up a notch here. She may be moderately attractive, but she’s nowhere “hot” enough to be this loony. For some reason, George Peppard’s “Paul” loves her “stick-figure” ass, even though she routinely treats him like something she would scrape off her shoe. Paul’s problems are a whole other story; I’ll come back to him in a bit.

Oh, by the way, Holly Golightly is a complete fraud. She’s no “happy-go-lucky” girl about town…even her fucking name tries to alliterate that. Instead, a she’s runaway hillbilly child bride named “Lula Mae” who’s too damaged to have a deep emotional connection with anyone but her brother. That sort of sexually-driven emotional baggage is the mirepoix for the classic recipe to create what Holly really is…

5) Holly Golightly is a Mob-Connected Prostitute

Golightly: Totally doesn’t look like a high-priced “call girl.” (wink, nudge)

This movie trying to describe Holly Golighty “high-priced escort” is just a call-back to the “Breen Code;” it’s an overly-polite and completely transparent euphemism for “sucks dick for money.” I know this for a fact as a kid who grew up on TV westerns. Holly Golightly has the exact same “not supposed to figure this out” factor as “Miss Kitty” from “Gunsmoke.” I wasn’t more than 11 years old when I figured out the old saloon lady in Dodge City was a “madam,” and the reason why nobody ever got out of line in her saloon is she was giving Marshal Dillon a steady diet of “freebies.”

Miss Kitty: Because no saloon girls in Dodge City were prostitutes. (wink, nudge)

The same goes for Holly Golightly. I find it hard to swallow that she’s paying for her lifestyle by being just an “escort.” When that apartment used in that film went on the market in 2011, it fetched almost $6 million….or about $815,000 in 1961. When you consider in those days you could buy a fully-loaded brand new Cadillac convertible for less than $5,000, she was doing some serious swallowing on her own…if you know what I mean, and I think you do.

As a sidebar to the whole “high-priced hooker” bit, when she’s not turning tricks, she’s turning her services as a messenger for an imprisoned mobster to the outside world into another fat cash cow. This is the aspect which is used to hide a lot of Holly’s not-so-savory qualities; her lack of education and intellect is used to hide everything under a blanket of her alleged naiveté.

I’m not buying that…not even at Wal-Mart clearance prices. I mean…how obvious does it have to be? She charges men for “conversation” and asks for $50 for “powder room” tip money, and they follow her home begging for sex. Naturally, the movie never shows the commission of the actual deed, but don’t even try to tell be she doesn’t hunt like a high-end sex worker. She picks a flounder with a fat wallet, uses her charm to set the hook, and digests as much cash as she can extract.

If you doubt this, remember Truman Capote was the author of the 1958 novella this on which this film is based, and described the “Holly” as an “American Geisha.” Capote also wanted Marilyn Monroe to play Holly Golightly; he believed that character’s charm wasn’t just her “je nais se quois”…it also lies in her “overt sex appeal.”

Not to mention, Marilyn Monroe rejected the role because her advisor and acting coach Paula Strasberg said Monroe shouldn’t play “a lady of the evening.” That one change would have fixed so much of what is wrong with this movie, namely because…

6) Paul Varjak is a Prostitute, too…

Varjak and 2-E.: Coffee with one “sugar mama.”

George Peppard plays “Paul Varjak.” In theory, Paul Varjak is a writer, but we never know of anything he’s written, and we never come across anybody who’s read his work. There’s a brief bona fides where we get a glimpse of a few lines he’s scribbled inspired by Holly, but it doesn’t take long to see what Paul’s money-maker really is.

Unlike Holly’s whoring, Paul’s is damn near right out in the open. For every minute he spends banging his typewriter, he spends about four hours pounding the cobwebs out of the cervix of an older, married woman known only as “2-E Failenson” (played by Patricia Neal). He has an amazing amount of sex with “2-E” while showing almost no affection for her.

Not only that, but the money is also right out in the open. She clearly leaves cash for him on the nightstand, offers to bankroll a weekend away for him and Holly, and she talks to him like he’s a rented piece of meat. The bottom line is Paul’s income ain’t coming from his pen…it’s coming from his penis.

In other words, Holly’s vagina has one of those “Now Serving” signs like the customer service desk at Wal-Mart. Paul wears enough tread off “2-E’s” tires he should probably have a steel-belted radial Trojan…and yet nobody figures out how that complicates the love story between Holly and Paul. It boils down to Paul’s main attraction for Holly seems to be he wants to be the “shining knight” to her “damsel in distress.”

He wants to save her from being even more of a mess than he is, but he clearly has no idea how to do that. There’s a fun level of gallantry in his self-serving pointlessness. It’s almost like the relationship between Paul and Holly is an omelette made with eggs which weren’t broken; they were emotionally shattered.

To me, the two best examples of how truly scrambled their psyches really are come in the fact Holly makes Paul go to the train station to tell her “husband” Doc Golightly (played by Buddy Ebsen…more on him later) that she isn’t going back home with him…and Paul willingly does her “dirty work.” If that doesn’t paint the picture, then explain to me Holly’s obsession with trying to rename Paul after her brother Fred?

Oddly enough, that’s not the only “Fred”-related bit of weirdness here…

7) Did You Know Fred Flintstone was a Mobster?

“Sally Tomato” is the jailed mob boss for whom Holly plays messenger. When you watch this movie, every time you hear Sally say something, close your eyes and tell me what you hear. What you should be picturing is Fred Flintstone, because “Sally Tomato” is played by Alan Reed…who also voiced the iconic 1960s cartoon character. Now that you know that, every time you hear Sally speak, you’ll be waiting for him to order a rack of ribs so big it flips over his car.

That brings to something which always bothered me about “The Flintstones;” the size difference between Fred and Wilma. Fred looks like he’s two brontosaurus ribs away from a prehistoric lap-band. I mean, rule #1 of “portion control” has to be your entrée doesn’t flip over your fucking car, right? Not to mention, something isn’t right when you have that much food and Wilma still looks like Bedrock’s version of Karen Carpenter. But on the topic of eating disorders…

8 ) Was Audrey Hepburn Already Dying?

“Dem Bones…”

Yeah, I know she lived for three decades after this movie was made before cancer killed her in 1993. Despite that, her appearance in “Breakfast Tiffany’s” set the tone for the “heroin chic” fashion craze of the 1990s. This is one of those problems immediately solved by casting Marilyn Monroe in the role of “Holly.” As previously mentioned, Truman Capote intended for “Holly” to ooze sex appeal. “Sorry, not sorry” in advance to all you “Hepburn-o-philes” out there, but Marilyn Monroe had more of that in her left big toe than Audrey Hepburn had in the entirely of he 87 ½-pound body. Seriously, how can somebody who looks like they have the mother of all tapeworms be in a movie that has a meal right in the title? Maybe this film could have been more aptly titled “Bulimia at Tiffany’s.”

Having said all that, let’s get to the truly disturbing aspect here. A great number of the men who find Audrey Hepburn powerfully attractive are Italian fashion designers, pedophiles, and others who exhibit more than moderate turgidity at the physiques of 11-year old boys. There’s more evidence of that in Capote’s novella; Peppard’s “Paul” was changed significantly from the book. In the novella, Holly Golightly refers to Paul as a “Maude;” a slang term for a male prostitute.

Fret not, gang…before you sharpen your crayon to write me some pointed hate-mail, just wait…it’s going to get worse…

9) The studio wanted to remove the only good thing about this movie

Upon his preview screening of “Breakfast at Tiffany’s,” Paramount executive Martin Rackin hated “Moon River;” a track composed by Henry Mancini and written by Johnny Mercer. To her credit, Audrey Hepburn was reported to have said the song would be removed “over my dead body.” The song would go on to win the Academy Award for Best Original Song.

What an idiot.

10) Another casting change that could have fixed this movie

I’m not going to spoil the ending for those of you whose curiosity might have been peaked here; after all, this is about a movie lots of people consider a classic. So, check it out and form your own opinions. The one thing I will tell you…the ending is total bullshit.

Once they couldn’t get Marilyn Monroe, director Blake Edwards wanted Steve McQueen to play opposite Audrey Hepburn. They couldn’t get him either because he was under contractual obligations for the television western “Wanted: Dead or Alive” despite the fact he was interested in the part. But putting McQueen could have allowed for the perfect setting for the conclusion which would have made perfect sense. After all the bullshit she’s put Paul through, the film ends with him punching Holly dead in the face and walking off in the rain…fade to black and roll the credits.

11) The Type-Casting of Buddy Ebsen

Yeah, I know most people younger than me never even heard of George Peppard outside of his role as Colonel John “Hannibal” Smith on the 1980s action-adventure series “The A-Team,” but short of possibly being a bi-sexual prostitute, his Hollywood career doesn’t offer the lurid possibilities that of Buddy Ebsen does.

A recurring feature in this series is noting a phenomenon I call “reverse typecasting.” This happens when when you see an actor who played a role in something which became part of this country’s cultural fabric, and even when you see them in something made before their face became associated with an iconic character, that’s all you can see. Fair or not, my first exposure to Buddy Ebsen was “The Beverly Hillbillies.” Yeah, I know the guy had a long career and was in a ton of stuff, but there’s just no way I can see him and not immediately think “Jed Clampett.”

The good news is “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” solved that problem. The bad news is now I think Buddy Ebsen might have been a “Level III” sex offender. Seriously, have you ever noticed that throughout out his career, Ebsen always has women around him who are creepily younger than he is?

Think about it. It starts with this movie. “Doc” is easily old enough to be Holly “Lula Mae” Golightly’s father, and yet he’s supposedly married to her. Flash the clock forward by a decade or so, and you have the geriatric detective Barnaby Jones and his former Miss America sidekick Lee “Catwoman” Merriwether, who is also unnaturally close at all times and may very well be one-third his age. But the best example is why Ebsen shows up in this category.

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If you recall, Ebsen’s “Jed Clampett” was the patriarch of a piece-meal family unit consisting of two “stray cat” cousins, an elderly grandmother, and himself. Despite the fact that Donna Douglas’ “Elly May” was always belabored to be an animal-collecting tom-boy who WAS NOT Jed’s daughter, we were all reminded more often than necessary that she was really every bit the prototypical 1960s Monroe-esque voluptuous blonde sex-bomb. There’s tons of episodes of “The Beverly Hillbillies” in which Donna Douglas is shown in lingerie or revealing swimwear for some sort of quasi-gratuitous reason, and 10 will get you 20 she had to “model” all of them in Buddy Ebsen’s dressing room.

Too bad the gold-digger Holly didn’t hang on to Doc Golightly…if she had only waited a few years when Ol’ Jed’s a millionaire. Talk about a plan that didn’t come together…

Conclusion:

The reason there were so many Wal-Mart references in this piece: Both Paul and Holly are both pretty low-rent human beings, and this movie isn’t worthy of being included in the $5 cheap DVD bin along with “The Bodyguard,” “Airplane II,” and pretty much anything with Steven Seagal.

FUN FACT: Alan Reed isn’t the only famous cartoon voice which appears in this movie. Mel Blanc (the voice of Warner Brothers) lends his pipes to an unseen drunk at Holly’s house party.

You can see all the movies I hate here.

Got a question, comment, or just want to yell at us? Hit us up at [email protected], @Dubsism on Twitter, or on our Pinterest, Tumblr, Instagram, Snapchat or Facebook pages, and be sure to bookmark Dubsism.com so you don’t miss anything from the most interesting independent sports blog on the web.

Movies Everybody Loves That I Hate – Episode 8: “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” Today's Movie: Breakfast at Tiffany's Year of Release: 1961 Stars: Audrey Hepburn, George Peppard, Patricia Neal…

#Classic Movies #Movies #Movies I Hate

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travisandersondatingblog · 7 years ago

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What Does it Mean When a Guy Ignores You (+ What You Should DO)

Things have been good with the guy you’re dating. You’ve got chemistry. Conversations flow. Then one day, he doesn’t text you for 24 hours. WTF? What does it mean when a guy ignores you like that?

Did you misread the signs? Was he not really into you?

Feeling ignored has always sucked throughout human history.

Back when we were living in tribes, if a guy was ignoring you, he might be out hunting with his buddies.

Cavewoman You: UGG! I just made Smerg’s favorite Pterodactyl soup and he totally dissed me!!

Fifty years ago, he might just not pick up the (corded) phone when you called.

1960s You: Hmm. He must be at Woodstock. Guess I’ll find my free love somewhere else…

But now, when a guy ignores you, you know for a fact that he’s read every one of your 12 text messages…and he’s just not responding.

This makes steam pour out of your ears!

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Understandable. It’s just common courtesy to respond to a text, even if he’s not into you. But is that the case? Does he not like you? Is he playing games? Is he out with another woman? What does it mean when a guy ignores you??

As your coach, I take the role of letting you into the male mind very seriously. But be warned: it’s not always a pretty sight. Men do dumb things, especially with women they’re attracted to. Sometimes you overthink what they’re thinking. Either way, I’m going to help you figure out what’s on his mind when he ignores you, and what you should do about it.

Your Coach,

P.S. If you’re ready to amp up your game so you don’t get ignored by a man, check out my free Flirting Workshop training.

Introduction

Is he ignoring you? Is he ghosting you? Whatever he’s doing, it’s damn confusing. You waste precious time trying to figure out: why do men ignore women?

Let me apologize up front for my species. Men sometimes take the chickenshit route out of a situation that makes them uncomfortable. Or else…they’re absolutely clueless that they’ve offended you. Either way, you deserve to know what it means when a guy ignores you so you can figure out if you should cut bait or give him a chance.

Let’s look at a few scenarios, shall we?

1. What Does It Mean When a Guy Ignores You…to Play the Game?

Look, you know that I’m not a fan of playing games in dating…at least these days. I’ll admit that back when I was single, I did play games. (C’mon. Cut me some slack! I was a kid!)

And as they say: hate the player, not the game.

Sad but true: there’s no more effective way to make a woman want you than to ignore her just a little bit. This guy that you’re into might take several hours to respond to your text…

Or ignore your voicemail…

Leave a question unanswered…

Some guys take this “ignore her so she’ll want you” thing a little too far. If he’s meticulously planning how long he’ll wait until he responds to you, he most definitely is playing games to try to get you to chase him.

If you think that’s what he’s doing, then don’t give in.

What To Do When He Ignores You Like This

Don’t chase him: when you chase him, he’s winning. If this guy thinks the way to your heart is by messing with your head and playing hard to get, he’s got another thing coming. You really don’t want a guy who can’t admit when he’s excited to talk to you by, oh, I dunno, responding to a text sooner??

If you text him and he takes forever, you have two choices: play the game back and take twice as long to respond…

Or move on. If he’s playing games this early in the relationship, he’s probably not suddenly going to be authentic a few months down the road.

2. What Does It Mean When a Guy Ignores You…Because He’s Unsure About You?

He may not be sure of what he wants.

You may know exactly how you feel about this man you’re dating, but he may not be as sure, especially if he didn’t plan to get into a serious relationship and you seem to want one. When he ignores you, don’t automatically assume it’s over. He may just need some time to process where he is and what he wants.

Maybe he was playing the field before he met you, happy with a hookup and nothing more. Then you come along, this sexy, confident thing, and suddenly he’s not sure if keeping things casual is all he wants.

So he pulls back.

Men are notorious for pulling away when things get serious. He may be unable to gain real perspective when things are hot and heavy and he is spending all his time with you, so he may make himself unavailable a few days so he can spend time away from you and get his head straight.

What To Do When He Ignores You Like This

This is actually a really good reason to ignore you! It means he’s reflecting on the potential of a relationship with you, which is probably what you want, right?

Give him his space to figure things out. When he’s ready, he’ll come back and/or be willing to talk about where things are headed. Let him steer the ship.

3. What Does It Mean When a Guy Ignores You…to Slow Things Down?

He may need to slow things down.

You know the feeling: sometimes when you click with someone, it’s easy to get swept up in the emotion of a new relationship. You may be perfectly willing to let things flow and see where they go, but he might panic if things move too quickly at the start of something new.

If these conversations are happening early in the relationship, yea, he might freak out:

You: So I was thinking we should definitely get a puppy down the road. Maybe two…By the way, what names do you like for our children?

Him: Uhhhhhh…

He may feel like he’s getting ahead of himself. That you’re getting ahead of yourself. After all, the two of you have only been dating a few weeks. You really don’t know each other that well.

And so he pulls away.

Now, not every guy will do this. Some guys are happy to move quickly when they know it’s right. So when he ignores you because things are moving too quickly, it might be because he’s emotionally immature. He may feel unable to talk to you about his fears about this relationship, and so he starts to do the fadeout.

What To Do When He Ignores You Like This

When he ignores you as a result of things moving too quickly, realize there’s no rush here. If he needs a week or two to get his head straight on what he wants from all this, you’ll both benefit in the long run. You should do the same: slow things down so you have time to catch your breath and figure things out.

Are things as great as they seem, or are you still in the honeymoon phase of the relationship? Science shows that, during this phase, your brain releases endorphins and hormones that can make you so happy to be around this guy. But in reality, you aren’t being yourselves in this phase. You may not have gotten into an argument yet, or shown one another the dark corners of your mind. And so things seem blissfully perfect.

Having some space at this point can help you understand whether you’re simply infatuated, or if there is real potential for this relationship. He can figure out the same.

On the other hand, if you give him a few weeks to think and him pulling away is a persistent problem, it’s time to talk to him about what’s going on. He may have decided this relationship has no future but is reluctant to end it. Or he might be ignoring you for another reason on this list. He owes you the truth.

Whatever the result with this man, keep in mind for future relationships that going slower is better. Take your time to get to know one another and wait until you’re out of that honeymoon phase and you know how you really feel about him before you start talking about the future.

4. What Does It Mean When a Guy Ignores You…Because You Hurt His Feelings?

He may be sulking because you upset him.

The male ego can be fragile. One big reason men pull away is that their feelings get hurt by women.

Think back and you can probably figure out what upset him: did you get in a fight the last time you were together?

Maybe you said something off the cuff that hurt him.

Maybe you made him jealous. You may not even think that the “thing” that happened was that big a deal, but if you can think of something that might have upset him and he’s ignoring you, then you’re probably right.

What To Do When He Ignores You Like This

I’m going to give you one simple word to make this better:

Sorry.

Don’t be afraid to apologize. So many relationships would have less friction if both parties were willing to say they were sorry from time to time.

Even if you don’t think you’re in the wrong, consider apologizing anyway. Many people allow their egos to get in the way of an apology, but sometimes saying sorry is the easiest way to just move on from an unfortunate situation and let your partner know that you value his feelings and didn’t mean to upset him.

And know that men want to reconcile differently than women do. In a study led by T. Joel Wade of Bucknell University, researchers discovered that while women wanted an apology after an argument (maybe with a few tears thrown in for good measure), men preferred a kind gesture or…ahem…sexual favors.

So realize that maybe letting those crocodile tears flow with a blubbering I’m so sorry baby! may not be as effective as showing you care in…other ways.

5. What Does It Mean When a Guy Ignores You…Because It’s Over?

He may be too chicken to tell you it’s over.

I truly think one of the biggest drawbacks of modern dating is that people aren’t always upfront about how they’re feeling…or as upfront about breaking up with someone as they were in the past.

By the way: women are guilty of this too! I hear from men all the time that women aren’t always honest in telling a man they don’t want to see him again.

It’s so much easier for both parties to ignore a text or call, or block someone on a dating app rather than say, you know what? I don’t really feel chemistry with you. I’d like to stay friends though, if you’re game.

How hard is that?

And yet, if you’re on the receiving end of that ghosting, it can hurt and piss you off to no end.

What To Do When He Ignores You Like This

If you get the sense that this is why he’s ignoring you, look at it as a blessing in disguise. In no way do you want to waste time on a man who isn’t emotionally mature enough to be honest with you about his feelings.

And you need to follow the Golden Rule on this one, lady: if you’re not into a guy, have the courage to tell him you don’t see it being a fit. This lets him move on so he can find someone great. I truly believe in dating karma, that what goes around comes around, so make sure you’re acting in a way you want the men you date to act!

Conclusion:

When he ignores you, there can be many reasons. It’s up to you to put on your detective hat and figure out exactly what the situation is. Give it a few days in case he just needs some space.

If, at that point, he’s still AWOL, reach out and ask what’s up. He may or may not be honest with you about what’s going on, so expect that.

If it gets to a point where you can’t take it, nothing good is going to come of him ignoring you. If he needs time to think about what he wants, he’ll tell you. If he is a coward and can’t be honest about it being over, then it’s time to move on.

So what’s your take? What does it mean when a guy ignores you? I’d love to hear your stories in the comments below.

And take advantage of my newest free training: my Flirting Workshop teaches you how to attract a man, show him you’re interested and keep his attention.

The post What Does it Mean When a Guy Ignores You (+ What You Should DO) appeared first on Sexy Confidence.

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Don’t You Wait: The Best of The Week

Solange. Photo: Paradigm Talent Agency

Well, the Super Bowl is here, which means a ton of artists will be on hand performing all across the city, although many of you won’t be able to get close enough due to enormous crowds. Solange, ZZ Top, Lizzo, and Polyphonic Spree will all perform here this week while most of us attempt to get around all of the chatter and mess. Houston, your next seven days are all planned out.

On Wednesday you can start off at Discovery Green and surrounding areas for the Super Bowl Live event featuring Americana rockers Buxton. Far from heroes in this neck of the woods, the band’s last album Half A Native is one of the best albums a label ever botched the release of. Aside from the swooning notes from that album, the group brings it live for the all ages event that gets going around 3 pm with sets from Second Lovers and more with additional information here.

Walter’s will host the synth heavy jams of LA’s popular Cold Cave. Mixing dark wave, noise, and synthpop, Cold Cave reminds me of a lot of what Great Britain offered up in the ’80s. Known for an energetic live show, their latest release, The Idea of Love from last year, is pretty enjoyable. The new wave goth pop of LA’s Drab Majesty will be on hand as direct support an opener and his live sets are supposed to be a real trip. The all ages show has doors at 8 pm and tickets between $15 and $17.

Youth Code. Photo: Dais Records

Eastdown Warehouse will have the return of Pittsburgh’s Code Orange. The kind of hardcore these guys bring isn’t usually my deal, but their latest album Forever does hit pretty hard. This show is highlighted with a direct support slot from LA’s Youth Code is worth checking out. Youth Code has always kind of reminded me of a modern day mix of Nine Inch Nails and Marilyn Manson, without the cheesy factor, and their latest release Commitment To Complications is pretty killer. Arizona’s Gatecreeper opens the all ages show with doors at 8 pm and tickets between $12 and $16.

Over at Club Spire on Main, you can get up close and personal with world renowned DJ A-Trak. He’s been turning heads since he was 15 and a stint as Kanye’s DJ didn’t slow him down by any means. His sets are known to get people moving and his latest release, last year’s In The Loop: A Decade of Remixes, can definitely get you moving. The 21 & up show has locals but none mentioned yet with doors at 10 pm and tickets for $20.

Lizzo. Photo: Atlantic Records/Jabari Jacobs

Thursday you can begin over at Discovery Green for the Super Bowl Live event that kicks off with the hip hop of Houston’s INGRID, who’s latest album from last year, Trill Feels, is pretty hot. Lizzo will bring her intense and groovy new album Coconut Oil to life afterwards before a set from jazz pianist, Robert Glasper Experiment. Of course, Solange will close out the night for the all ages and FREE event that gets going around 3:00 pm with extra sets from Children of Pop, Bang Bangz and more on hand.

Over at Mucky Duck, the often laconic voiced sounds of Nashville’s Minton Sparks will swing by to perform. Adding a spoken word type set full with lush Southern notes, Sparks will make you think while she melts your heart. Her last release, 2014’s Gold Digger is an album everyone should hear, and her live sets have been acclaimed from coast to coast. The 21 & up show has doors at 7 pm and tickets between $22 and $25.

Boy Harsher. Photo: Courtesy of Artist/Travis Weitzman

Satellite Bar will host the synth oriented darkwave sounds of Massachusetts’ Boy Harsher. This two piece dropped a pretty amazing EP in 2014 called Lesser Man, only to drop a full length last year called Yr Body Is Nothing that went darker and harder. They’re known for an intense live show, and they’re an act you should check out if you’re a fan of the genre. The dark synthwave sounds of Houston’s Tearful Moon will provide direct support while the always intriguing strangeness of Ak’chamel will go on prior. Andrew Lee of Lace will perform a solo set as opener for the all ages show with doors at 8 pm and tickets for $7.

Fitzgerald’s will have a barn burner when one of the craziest acts you can see, Th’ Legendary Shack Shakers will swing by to perform their blend of blues, Americana, rockabilly, and Southern gothic tunes. These guys never keep things the same and they even employed Duane Denison of Jesus Lizard at one point. However, now they’re just a fist pumping four piece with a killer new album called Agridustrial, and their live shows are always like a crazed tent revival set to music. The throwback tonk of The Delta Bombers will provide direct support while the rockabilly energy of The Brains will go on prior. The outlaw country of South Texas’ The Barnyard Stompers will open the all ages show with doors at 8 pm and tickets between $15 and $20.

Walter’s will have the fun side of Ween, when a set from Dean Ween Group stops in to drop a set. Ween is the one in the band who plays the more pop oriented songs, and his latest album The Deaner Album from last year feels like a ton of fun from start to finish. Amandla will provide support for the all ages show with doors at 8 pm and tickets between $20 and $24.

NOTS. Photo: Ground Control Touring/Chad Kamenshine

Rudyard’s has the weird punk of the Memphis based all female four piece, NOTS. Known for an intense live show and critically acclaimed sounds, their latest album Cosmetic is worth lending an ear to. Austin’s John Wesley Coleman III will provide direct support while the intriguing dance meets indie rock of Houston’s Keno Sims will open the all ages show with doors at 8 pm and tickets between $10 and $13.

Friday things get heated when you can start at Market Square Park for live tunes from Dollie Barnes, Young Girls, and more. The all ages and 100% FREE event gets going around 11 am and ends around 3.

Catch Fever. Photo: Uncredited/Courtesy of Artist/Facebook

If you really want, you could head back over to Discovery Green and the surrounding area for more of the Super Bowl Live shows. Robert Ellis, Leon Bridges, The Suspects, and more will all be on hand, as well as performances from Catch Fever, Vodi, -Us. and Wrestlers. The all ages and FREE event gets going around noon.

Believe it or not, you can steer away from all of that madness and head out to the Woodlands to catch funk legends WAR in the Big Barn at Dosey Doe. Seriously, these guys wrote the book on funk, they can still bring it when they perform, and hits like “Low Rider,” “Why Can’t We Be Friends?,” and “Spill The Wine” should be more than enough reason for you to head out and catch them while you still can. Your ticket includes dinner which is served from 6 pm to 7:30 pm for the all ages show with tickets between $98 and $158.

You Blew It! Photo: APA Agency

Walter’s will have a set from Florida emo rockers, You Blew It!. I hate this band’s name, but contrary to what some think, I dig their sound. Their 2014 album Keep Doing What You’re Doing got them a larger audience, but their latest Abendrot is where the love should be focused. The album finds the band incorporating a more adult sound while hanging on to emo core elements from their past, resulting in a record that you should check out. The indie pop of All Get Out will provide direct support while the emo of Tennessee’s Free Throw will open the all ages show with doors at 7 pm and tickets between $12 and $17.

If you’d rather get your laugh on, you could attempt to get into one of the two shows at Fitzgerald’s featuring the always funny Hannibal Buress. Whether you know him from his comedy specials, his time on The Eric Andre Show, or his albums, Buress never disappoints. The 7 pm show is sold out, but there’s an all ages show with doors at 10 pm with tickets between $35 and $40.

Kay Weathers. Photo: Josh Cobb

Kay Weathers will return to town with a set over at Nightingale Room. While I’m pretty sure that Main street will be a nightmare to navigate, you should still swing by to catch her perform. A crazy light show and adornments galore, her debut EP Songs For Lucy is pretty amazing. She’ll have the hyper energized jams of -Us. on prior for the 100% FREE 21 & up show with doors at 7 pm.

If you’d rather steer from music altogether, then you could head to Hardy & Nance Studios for the Cheap Date show. Over thirty five artists will have art on display, all for a $20 price to take home, and the attached market means that you should definitely swing by to grab some things to decorate your spaces. There’s more information here for the all ages event that gets going around 7 pm and runs between $3 ad $5.

At Proof Rooftop Lounge, Long Beach rapper and weed aficionado Snoop Dogg will drop by to perform an exclusive set as well as drop a DJ set. Of course I don’t need to give you the man’s resume, though his latest release Coolaid from last year is worth giving an ear to. The 21 & up show has a limited number of tickets between $50 and $175 with doors at 8 pm.

Jody Seabody & the Whirls. Photo: Uncredited/Courtesy of Artist/Facebook

Rudyard’s will have a headlining set from Houston’s Slow Future. Though the band has only been around for a couple of years, they’ve stayed on track with a pretty solid release on last year’s First EP. That might be enough for people, but the insanity of a set from Jody Seabody & the Whirls will be on as direct support, and as someone who’s caught them multiple times; be prepared to be impressed. The highly charged fuzzy indie rock of Houston’s A Sundae Drive will be on as openers for the 21 & up show with doors at 9 pm and a measly $8 cover.

On Saturday you can keep the Super Bowl goodness starting at Market Square Park for an opening set from Dayta, followed by performances from Handsomebeast, El Lago, Vodi and more. The all ages event gets going around 11 am and it’s 100% FREE.

Over at Discovery Green and the surrounding area, you can get groovy with another day of Super Bowl Live. A headlining set from Houston legends ZZ Top will be preceded by a performance from Gary Clark Jr as well as one from Houston’s The Suffers. There’s also sets from Dollie Barnes and more for the all ages and FREE event that gets going around noon.

The Phantom Royals. Photo: Uncredited/Courtesy of Artist/Facebook

At Continental Club, you can check out the multiple vocal chorus sounds of The Polyphonic Spree. The Dallas group lead by Tripping Daisy’s Tim DeLaughter has never disappointed with their mix of trippy pop and multiple vocals, and their live shows are always amazing. While their last album Yes, It’s True is do for a follow up, their first two releases The Beginning Stages of… and Together We’re Heavy are what they’re known for. There are also sets from The Phantom Royals, A Fistful of Soul, DJ Mikey and more. Things get going around noon and it’s 100% FREE.

If you just want to avoid all of the madness around football, then you could swing by The Archway Gallery to see and hear the collaborative effort between Sandy Ewen and her mother Jane Ewen. Art, music from Sandy’s trio Etched in the Eye to perform will all be on hand alongside gratis beer and more. The all ages show gets going around 7 pm and it’s 100% FREE.

Screech of Death. Photo: Uncredited/Courtesy of Artist/Facebook

Vinal Edge will host the Women In Punk Fest featuring art punk, old school death punk and more. The show, featuring sets from No Love Less, Mel Hell & The Texas Mod Crushers, Screech of Death, Supergrave and Clare, has more information here. Things get going around 7 pm and the all ages event is 100% FREE.

Later on at Continental Club, the queen of rock n’ roll, Wanda Jackson will swing by to play to a more than likely packed house. Jackson hasn’t really slowed down from a career that began in the 1950’s. Realistically, Jackson is reaching that age where this might be one of your last chances to catch her, and her 2011 album The Party Ain’t Over was her kind way of saying she’s not going anywhere. The 21 & up show has doors at 10 pm and tickets for $25.

On Sunday you can finish the Super Bowl Live series with a headlining performance from Houston’s purveyors of Latin ska, Los Skarnales at Discovery Green and the surrounding areas. I don’t need to oversell these guys, I’ll just say that they’re performers that actually perform while redefining a sound they’ve nurtured since they began. Grupo Fantasma is also set to perform alongside others with things getting started around 11 am for the 100% FREE all ages event.

Negative Gemini. Photo: Courtesy of Artist/Facebook/Uncredited

Monday, Walter’s will host the unabashed and unadulterated electro pop of Brooklyn’s George Clanton. Clanton has skewed all over the electronica genre, and while his live sets have always been entertaining, the electro pop world is where he really shines. Lucky for us, his new album 100% Electronica is as pop as it gets, echoing the likes of OMD and Aha. The chillwave dreampop of New York’s Negative Gemini will bring plenty of dance grooves on during her set as direct support, while Houston’s XLO will bring a textural nature to the show beforehand. A DJ set from Children of Pop will make things ultra groovy as openers for the all ages show with doors at 8 pm and a $10 cover.

On Tuesday the crew from Bootown will bring another edition of their video clip rewritten series Neo-Benshi back to The Secret Group. The show, featuring people reworking the script of a video in the style of Mystery Science Theater 3000 is always worth making it out for. The all ages show has doors at 7 pm and a paltry $5 cover.

If you just want to escape, then you can forget all about the madness of the NFL festivities at Walter’s for their VHS Night. A double feature of sorts will play, maybe some tape swapping for those who still prefer the bulky film casing, as well as drink specials and more. The doors are at 8 pm, it’s all ages, and the FREE event has more information here.

That’s about all that’s happening around town this week. Don’t forget that it’s going to be bonkers, there will be law enforcement everywhere, as well as drunken tourists with the keys to a rental car. So be mindful, be safe, and use your best judgement for everyone’s sake.

Don’t You Wait: The Best of The Week this is a repost

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